My Inheritance...

Somebody's Mother

Somebody's Mother
By Mary Dow Brine

The woman was old and ragged and gray
And bent with the chill of the Winter's day.

The street was wet with a recent snow
And the woman's feet were aged and slow.

She stood at the crossing and waited long,
Alone, uncared for, amid the throng

Of human beings who passed her by
Nor heeded the glance of her anxious eyes.

Down the street, with laughter and shout,
Glad in the freedom of "school let out,"

Came the boys like a flock of sheep,
Hailing the snow piled white and deep.

Past the woman so old and gray
Hastened the children on their way.

Nor offered a helping hand to her -
So meek, so timid, afraid to stir

Lest the carriage wheels or the horses' feet Should crowd her down in the slippery street.

At last came one of the merry troop,
The gayest laddie of all the group;

He paused beside her and whispered low,
"I'll help you cross, if you wish to go."

Her aged hand on his strong young arm
She placed, and so, without hurt or harm,

He guided the trembling feet along,
Proud that his own were firm and strong.

Then back again to his friends he went,
His young heart happy and well content.

"She's somebody's mother, boys, you know,
For all she's aged and poor and slow,

"And I hope some fellow will lend a hand
To help my mother, you understand,

"If ever she's poor and old and gray,
When her own dear boy is far away."

And "somebody's mother" bowed low her head
In her home that night, and the prayer she said

Was "God be kind to the noble boy,
Who is somebody's son, and pride and joy!"

As I mentioned in an earlier entry, I am away from my* books today as I am adding these entries. I am several days behind in this poetry sharing challenge. In an attempt to catch up, I am recalling the poems and finding them online.

As I do, it is interesting—the poems are not neatly waiting in the queue. They are jostling for position. Share me! Share me! They all seem to clammer inside my head.

What do these poems and my choices say or reveal about me?

They might reveal that I am actually my mother's mini-me.

What drew me to this poem?

This poem is reflective of the values and culture of my childhood and my family. Perhaps these poems were, in part, a way my mother passed her values on to me.

My grandmother was crippled. I know that word is no longer considered acceptable but it is the word and the reality I grew up with.

Grandma was barely able to bend her knees. She was not able to "dress her feet". That was what we called it when we helped her put her shoes and stockings on.

Grandma walked with two canes but she did not take steps. Instead, she swiveled or pivoted on one foot and then the other. Her shoes had swirls on the soles caused by this way of slowly making her way from one place to another.

Grandma was also a bit portly. Her build was like Andy Taylor's Aunt Bea and, if she fell, it took a couple of men to get her up off the floor.

I have at least one faint recollection of her falling when I was quite young. I learned as a toddler not to crowd past Grandma when she was walking from one place to another. I learned to be patient and wait.

I did that as a two year old. I do it now. Today, my grandmother is no longer with us. Today, I am patient and wait as "somebody's mother" moves slowly from place to place or needs a helping hand.

My mother and examples from poems like this taught me this manner of kindness and respect and has served me well to this day.

These days, I am no longer a spring chicken, sometimes I, like the woman in the poem, ask God to bless the young person who lends a helping hand to me. The circle of life, eh?



*See asterisk explained in "Laughter..." .

~ ~ ~ JESUS is LORD! ~ ~ ~