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My Mother
by Nell D. Fordham
When I think back on my childhood
And
events of yesterday
Without fail, a vivid picture
Of somebody comes my
way;
I can see her in the kitchen
Apron tied around her waist
Stirring
up those homemade biscuits
With a smile upon her face.
And her hair
was black as raven
Plaited 'round her head, so dear
Cheeks so red from
wooden cookstove
Singing songs I loved to hear;
Sewing clothes from
printed feed sacks
Near a crackling fireplace
Reading scriptures from the
Bible
With that same smile on her face.
And the hands that rocked my
cradle
Often brushed my tears away
Hands made rough by hours of
labor
O'er a scrub-board, while I played;
Oh, those early years weren't
easy
For she was a farmer's wife
But she made us all so happy
With our
simple, country life.
Though the years were filled with struggle
And
the hard times did abound
In our home of seven children
Strength and love
was always found;
In the middle of that picture
Was somebody; oh, so
fair
With her cheeks so pink and pretty
And her long, black, shiny
hair.
Now her hair's a different color
And her eyesight's not as
keen
But to me she's still perfection
And she'll always be a queen;
In
this great, big world we live in
There will never be another
Like this
dear one whom I cherish
May God bless her ~ she's my mother!
Copyright 1987 Nell D. Fordham
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