If a bar band can’t go wrong playing Beatles songs, I guess a poem can’t be too bad if it’s about Mom. To Tina, the mother of our two very lucky children. (Though for her, somehow, the gray hair and wrinkles haven’t showed up.)

She waits, globe belly
A whole other world within
About to be born

She stoops, back aching
Two small arms circle her neck
Tiny kisses heal

She reads, lids heavy
Prays blessed slumber comes first
To her little ones

She drives, endless miles
Bouncing balls, musical notes
Practice makes better

She worries, they grow
In mind and body. But will
Love, wisdom follow?

She grays, and wrinkles
They walk up aisles, diplomas
Down aisles, rings and vows

She smiles, now she knows
They’ll still fall, but they’ll get up
For she showed them how

She’ll love, forever
Even after she is gone.
No other. Mother.

And last year’s Mother’s Day batch is here.