A Mother's love is something
that no on can explain,
It is made of deep devotion
and of sacrifice and pain,
It is endless and unselfish
and enduring come what may
For nothing can destroy it
or take that love away . . .
It is patient and forgiving
when all others are forsaking,
Today I have been issued a dare, by my peer,
If I do what they ask I will get in trouble, but they swear,
my life they will not spear
And if I don't they will make me into a rubble I am so
scared, who cares?
Tonight I can't sleep, this trouble is too deep,
I can't make a peep, I began to weep,
Is there no one who cares? That I am so scared?
Because of my Peers, I am filled with fears
I cried out in despair, is there no one who cares?
My pants could maybe fall down when I dive off the diving board.
My nose could maybe keep growing and never quit.
Miss Brearly could ask me to spell words like stomach and special.
(Stumick and speshul?)
I could play tag all day and always be "it."
Jay Spievack, who's fourteen feet tall, could want to fight me.
My mom and my dad--like Ted's--could want a divorce.
Miss Brearly could ask me a question about Afghanistan.
Somebody maybe could make me ride a horse.
My mom says I'm her sugarplum.
My mom says I'm her lamb.
My mom says I'm completely perfect
Just the way I am.
My mom says I'm a super-special wonderful terrific little guy.
My mom just had another baby.
My friends have left. Far away, my darling is asleep.
Outside, it's as dark as pitch.
I'm saying words to myself, words that are white
in the lamplight and when I'm half-asleep I begin
to think about my mother. Autumnal recollection.
Really, under the cover of winter, it's as if I know
everything---even what my mother is doing now.
She's at home in the kitchen. She has a small child's stove
toward which the wooden rocking horse can trot,
she has a small child's stove, the sort nobody uses today, but
Mom, your love is a mystery:
How can you do it all?
Mother is such a simple word,
But to me there’s meaning seldom heard.
For everything I am today,
My mother’s love showed me the way.
You are the Thunder and I am Lightning
And I Love the Way You, Know Who You are to me
Cause Mom You are a firework
My Moon in times of darkness
red, blue, pink and white
warm and fresh from wind and sun
bouquet smiles and joy
so lovely and hued
from drinking sun day to day
my mom sniffs the blooms
the honeybee hums
in amber scenes of summer
She’s frequently there with an opinion…
Often willing to share free advice…
She wants us all to find a way to be happy…
And to one another she wants us to be nice…
She has forever been an wonderful mother…
And she continues to be one to this day…
But if we do something to get on her bad side…
We should do our best to stay out of her way…
Birds of a feather
There’s no stronger bond
Than a mom’s love for her children...
Thank you, mom
For all you have done..
For me and our family
You were the one...
a mother's tale is to love and care
there is laundry everywhere
dishes in the sink
oh no my daughter painted herself pink
fingerprints on the door
oh crap dog poo on the floor
mom, where's my coat?
why do i have one glove?
the bathroom is now a moat
it seems neverending