Updated: Jul 1
Mother, may I write you a poem – A song of love from me to you, Although late in bringing?
Mother, may I tell of your care – Your constant kindness and endless empathy, Extended ever towards me?
You feel my sorrows, you share my pain, You help me see, you enlighten my day. You work and do good even when no one cares, You give yourself to service, unaware that
Every act of kindness is eternally impacting, Acting like a crack in the fabric of the universe, First forcing hope through the hole to console souls the world over, Then wholly lighting up the face of God Almighty.
Rightly then you should expect me to do the same. And endless blame, and endless blame Awaits my fame – or infamy – for I did not see, I did not plan And here I make it up again.
Three days late. Three days, but I didn’t know the effect of my lack. Three days late. Three days, and I hope now I can take it back.
Mother, may I call you dear? For that is what you are to me, Even when time slips through my fingers.
Mother, may I find you here – Here for me and here in my heart, Not leaving despite failures?
I am here for you, I am not leaving My heart is yours, despite it seeming Torn between two worlds, One here and one in Michigan
And here again, the problem is one of planning, Ever last minute, missing the most monumental matters. Matter of fact, you deserve the best. So best back myself back onto those tracks,
Tracking down my doubtful practices, Precisely enticing them to go hence, Over the fence, over the fence, Where I can see you and you can see me.
Three days late. Three days, but I hope you see I love you. Three days late. Three days, and your love has always surrounded me.
Here’s to you, mom! God’s made you especially special, Specially made for me. You send us snacks, Taking up so much of your time to show your love. I hope as time goes on I can do more of the same. I’m no good at planning, but God can help me to get better, Or at least to make an exception for you. Because you’re exceptional. =)
Your son, Ryan