To My Mom on Mothers' Day

To My Mother

You painted no Madonnas

    On chapel walls in Rome

But with a touch divine

    You brought her to our home.

My beautiful mother, with her (and our!) life ahead of her.

You wrote no lofty poems

    That critics counted art

But with a nobler vision

    You lived them in your heart.

First married.

You carved no shapeless marble

    Into some high soul design

But with a finer sculpture

   You shaped this soul of mine.

Five of the seven.

You built no great cathedrals

    That centuries applaud

But with a grace exquisite

    Your life cathedraled God.

All seven of us.
(And half of us teenagers!  Poor Mom.)

Had I the gift of Raphael

 Or that of Michelangelo

Oh, what a rare Madonna

 My mother’s life would show.

~Anon.