Nelda Grace

She glides through the home making sure all is in order;
The pantry is stocked, the bills are paid and in the recorder.

She prepares her meals several hours ahead;
And instructs each child how to make their bed.

She often overlooks her own personal need;
To attend to a child’s cry or plea.

She creatively adorns herself according to season;
And can break out in song for no reason.

She is a nurse, doctor, lawyer and preacher;
But to her child she is the primary teacher.

What big shoes to fill, this role of a mother;
The one who held you at birth, there is no other.

But when the comfort of those arms are no longer;
Her essence is still there to fill the hunger.

For memories are caught in nets raised high or dropped low;
That can be relished when we stop to let them go.

A mother like mine is what I esteem to be;
I only wish she were here to physically see.

But a legacy she did leave;
For how a beautiful Godly mother should be.

This poem is written in loving memory of my dear mother. May she rest in peace. (November 15, 1951 to June 3, 1991)