To My Mother Poem by Emma Atkinson

Dearest, sweetest woman,
You are the heart that forged me,
And in your arms I have grown.
It is your voice, your touch, your laugh
I have always known,
Your gaze the thing that's urged me.
You've held a thousand lessons in your hands
And placed them in mine,
When your worn hand and my young one entwine.
I will forever remember you in the dim light of the stove,
As you pour your heart into a pot,
Teaching me to be content with my lot,
Which is, in itself, more than I deserve.
It is a lessons I will preserve
Forever in my heart,
The one you gave me.
Thanks is never enough.
How can it
When it is my very existence
I owe you?
How can I ever show you?
I certainly do not say it enough,
But I love you-
The crinkle in your brown, brown eyes,
The way you break away from lies,
And say exactly what you mean;
The way you love to help,
And, yes, how you love to clean.
I love the warm shrill echo of your laugh,
How it rings unabashed in my ears,
How you've been there to bandage knees and wipe away tears
For all those many years.
I love all of you,
Even if I forget to say it,
But you are forever in my heart,
Just as I am in yours,
And we can never truly part.
Dearest, sweetest woman,
You are my mother-
How could I wish for any other?
It is your heart that forged me.