Classic and Contemporary Poetry
MOTHER, by TITUS LOWE First Line: Not a great lady Last Line: And count me a son of god! Subject(s): Mothers | ||||||||
NOT a great lady, this mother of mine, Easy through social graces, But her eyes oft shine with a light divine, As they gaze full of tenderness into mine, And her spirit is lucid, clear, and fine As angels in heavenly places. Delicate, fragile, weak she is not, Mother who has loved me long; Her strong back's bent leaning o'er the cot As child after child there fell to her lot; And she thanked the good God for the children she got, And burdens she bore with a song. Not white nor tiny is mother's hand-- It's reddened and knotted with toil; But the gentlest zephyr from fairy's wand, Nor the softest snowflake in all the land, Is so gentle and soft as mother's hand When fevers begin to boil. I thank Thee, God, for her Thou hast given To me, a man of the sod; For me she has prayed and hoped and striven, For me her heart has oft been riven; O make me worthy of her and heaven, And count me a son of God! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MY MOTHER'S HANDS by ANDREW HUDGINS CONTINENT'S END by ROBINSON JEFFERS IN THE 25TH YEAR OF MY MOTHER'S DEATH by JUDY JORDAN THE PAIDLIN' WEAN by ALEXANDER ANDERSON BLASTING FROM HEAVEN by PHILIP LEVINE PORTRAIT OF ONE DEAD by CONRAD AIKEN |
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