~About Mother~

If I were to draw for you a picture of love divine, it would not be that of a stately angel with a form that is full of grace, but a bent and toil-worn woman with a grave and tender face; no golden rings would enfold her, nor rosy her cheeks nor fair, but the face of an angel, framed in snow white hair; her hands are not white and slender, but roughened with work and woe, by bearing other’s burdens and soothing the tears that flow; no halo of light surrounds her, no wondrous power she hath, but many and many a blessing is spoken along her path; others may paint their angels with white robed forms of grace, but my sweet angel, has my mother’s careworn face.

......... is for the million things she gave me,

......... means only that she's growing old,
......... is for the tears she shed to save me,
......... is for her heart of purest gold;
......... is for her eyes, with love-light shining,
......... means right, and right she'll always be.


Put them all together, they spell "MOTHER,"
A word that means the world to me.

--Howard Johnson (c. 1915)


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