(Mama grew us,
like yeast,
in her tummy)
She added humor for flavor,
- a dash - of savor,
a little sweetening too…
Then she added some “flower.s”- -
She “needed” us--
And set us out to grow
Mama molded us
like bread dough
and tucked us in to rise
And when Mama was done--
We were beautiful!
And she has risen…
to perfection
God bless you. Kathy
Sue
Kathy
Micke
Be always safe,
Karen
What a unique way of seeing Motherhood and what a beautiful tribute to your Mom. A very creative poem any Mother would treasure.
Thank you,
Jill
(((HUGS))) and love, Karla.
(((HUGS))) and much love, your friend in Tx., Karen Lynn. :D
The author has rised to perfection herself.
More than excellent!!!
Georg
excellent Cryssa...
John
I love your play with words. You get that from Dad... There's a bit of both of them in here, then.
Every time I imagine Mom with dough, though, I can't help but see the rows and rows of little O's, plumping up on the long, long table, and five on a chop-stick ready for the wok, five in the wok, turning crispy gold, and five more on another chop-stick, dripping extra glaze back in to the silver, dented bowl, and five more drying on the rack, and five more...
Can it really have been a year and a half now? Sometimes I miss her soo much! --Charlie