Mother
I wonder if all mother's of small sons,
Grow as perplexed as I have often grown?
Do they, through lack of wisdom, stand dismayed,
And falteringly face each day alone?
I think of all the mother's of the earth,
I wonder, sometimes, would they, too, be glad
To know how Mary of old Nazareth
With daily wisdom reared her little lad,
I know God spoke to her through those brief years
Of all things that concerned their precious One,
And when the grave eyes questioned, surely God
Helped Mary answer well her little Son.
Could I have come some summer afternoon
And sat on the low doorstep at her feet,
While Jesus and his younger brothers played
Upon the bright grass by the shady street,
I would have learned from her; oh, many things,
I think i would have grown so very wise
That I could answer truthfully at last
The thousand questions in these upturned eyes.
And here's another poem for Mary; Our Queen of May
Sources: 1. Good Housekeeping Magazine;1928 - by Grace Noll Crowell
2. May Poetry
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