My Mother

The word “Twinkle” jumps at me and triggers  a sweet rhyme to play in my head and I immediately  think of the Taylor sisters and their penmanship. Though its “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star ” by Jane Taylor that won’t ever leave our brains , it’s “My mother” by Ann that has carved a niche in my soul.  For all those bookworms out there who love poetry, I can’t help but share this;

When pain and sickness made me cry,
Who gazed upon my heavy eye,
And wept for fear that I should die?
My Mother.

Who dressed my doll in clothes so gay,
And fondly taught me how to play,
And minded all I had to say?
My Mother.

Who ran to help me when I fell,
And would some pretty story tell,
Or kiss the place to make it well?
My Mother.

Who taught my infant lips to pray,
And love God’s holy book and day,
And walk in wisdom’s pleasant way?
My Mother.

Ah no! the thought I cannot bear,
And if God please my life to spare,
I hope I shall reward thy care,
My Mother.

When thou art feeble, old, and grey,
My healthy arm shall be thy stay,
And I will soothe thy pains away,
My Mother.

And when I see thee hang thy head,
‘Twill be my turn to watch thy bed,
And tears of sweet affection shed,
My Mother.

For could our Father in the skies
Look down with pleased or loving eyes,
If ever I could dare despise
My Mother?

Twinkle

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