I'm not the perfect mother, and this I know is true
I never really took the time to tell you I love you,
I always wanted perfect, the bedrooms and the plates
I never really took the time to stop and appreciate.
I always was too busy, I never really looked,
I expected way too much from you,
even made you read your own books.
I know you saw the mothers who made lemonade and cakes,
who always really took the time to stop and to relate.
You all are young men now i know its much to late.
I wish I was the mother who stopped to make a date.
To make a date to be there, to giggle and to play,
to only worries what else to do and never hesitate.
I know I hardly said it but this I know is true:
I hope you do believe me when I say that I love You!
The best of friends,
Can change a frown,
Into a smile,
when you feel down.
The best of friends,
Will understand,
Your little trials,
And lend a hand.
The best of friends,
Will always share,
Your secret dreams,
Because they care.
The best of friends,
Worth more than gold,
Give all the love,
A heart can hold.
Friendship by Alexander Pushkin
What's friendship? The hangover's faction,
The gratis talk of outrage,
Exchange by vanity, inaction,
Or bitter shame of patronage.
The gratis talk of outrage,
Exchange by vanity, inaction,
Or bitter shame of patronage.
Love and Friendship by Emily Bronte
Love is like the wild rose-briar,
Friendship like the holly-tree --
The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms
But which will bloom most constantly?
The wild-rose briar is sweet in the spring,
Its summer blossoms scent the air;
Yet wait till winter comes again
And who will call the wild-briar fair?
Then scorn the silly rose-wreath now
And deck thee with the holly's sheen,
That when December blights thy brow
He may still leave thy garland green.
Friendship like the holly-tree --
The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms
But which will bloom most constantly?
The wild-rose briar is sweet in the spring,
Its summer blossoms scent the air;
Yet wait till winter comes again
And who will call the wild-briar fair?
Then scorn the silly rose-wreath now
And deck thee with the holly's sheen,
That when December blights thy brow
He may still leave thy garland green.
Image Credit: Google.com
I enjoyed all of these sweet poems, but the first one really pulled at me.
ReplyDeleteI was a single mother and working two jobs to support myself and my son. I would work from 11-7 and then go to my next job from 7:30-4 and would try to be a mom when I wasn't sleeping. Whenever my son had something special at school, I would let my bosses know that come heck or high water, I was going to be with him. I didn't have time to bake or do all the other things that define a wonderful, perfect mother, but he never complained. Now he's an adult and I can't work anymore and we spend more time together now than then and I do all kinds of baking and cooking for him.
He told me recently it was worth the wait, because I've really improved. I love being a mother! Blessings!
Luckily, there's no such thing as a perfect mother; although some think they are ;) Love is more important than anything else you can give your children.
ReplyDeletehttp://halfwaybetweenthegutter.wordpress.com/2012/04/04/epiphany-2/