Mother’s Love by Annabel Howarth
From crack and snip, On blue-white sheets, To ash above or dust beneath, There is a force which can’t be broken, By distance or harsh words once spoken. Mother’s touch, The loving touch, The one you crave and need so much, Whose cradling arms stopped wailing cries, When life was merely suckling milk. Whose tender hands caressed your brow, In childhood fever and disease, Those arms which lifted you when down, With ointments and her gentle touch, She kissed away your screaming tears. When you were young your sunny days, Were filled with her sweet singing voice, Her warm eyes gazing down on you, Her Mona Lisa smile of love, To make things right, it was enough. And in achievement, up you’ll look And catch her proud eyes smiling there, When failure nags you in its midst, She’ll smile and tell you not to care, For mother’s love is always there. When time and seas divide your flesh, The cord which still holds fast your souls, ...