I fell in love with poetry
as babe upon my mother’s knee.
She fed me rhymes to help me sleep,
read sonnets that would make dad weep.
She dressed me in a poet’s cloak,
and sang to me each time I woke,
like Sappho, singing with her lyre,
as I lay dreaming by the fire.
Then Life dealt her that bitter blow,
and sorrow in her soul did flow.
She could not voice her verse no more,
nor nurse me as she did before.
Her sonnet-son she used to love,
she slew that dear, defenseless dove.
For mother, in my broken youth
was widow, torn by tragic truth.
I’m still in love with poetry,
Its rhyme and rhythm’s heavenly.
For there’s still sacred symmetry
with songs my mother sang to me.
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Author:
Blue-eyed Bolla (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: March 17th, 2022 02:32
- Comment from author about the poem: for my mother
- Category: Family
- Views: 12
- Users favorite of this poem: L. B. Mek
Offline)
Comments3
as, was I
handfed, the English alphabet
on my mother's knees
years, before my feet
would ever greet
this beautiful land
I now, lovingly
call out to
as my cherished, Blighty...
(just such a wonderful read
a great dedication! thank you
our lyrical Poet, supreme)
Very nice
This is absolutely beautiful poetry, Kevin. What a wonderful tribute to your sweet mother!!
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