Mother
Sitting, and smiling out on the world,
is the little old lady in grey;
wondering alone at the beauty unfurled
by the memories passing her way.
She's got a face that I'll remember,
yet one of a thousand kind,
set in the dawn of September
with soft eyes that are helpless, and blind.
Soft greying hair round the edge
that is turning to silver with time;
but her heart is much more than a pledge.
for it's laced thru' with gold, and it's mine.
Face wrinkled with lines and age
and yet, always smiling, you see
a proud lady, as wise as a sage,
like only a mother can be.
For three score years she's watched me,
with my many changing faces:
praise given where praise ought to be ---
then told me where my place is.
It’s really wonderful you know,
for your Mother, you will find.
stays on to liven up the show;
there's no other quite her kind.
© 1965 : Colin Gordon-Farleigh
From ‘Memories’
Published by Gazebo Books, 1966
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