Poem for my mother

Her smile is sunlight, her voice The echo of a child. Even now I see and hear her Chastening words that run as wild As the wind on England's downs, Or softly, singing romantic airs, Funny rolicking songs of towns And taverns. Her morning wears Into her noon and afternoon of light And still she sings, Bird-gentle, bird-bright.

of stories this month > Get unlimited stories
You've read  of  free articles. Subscribe to continue.

Unlimited digital access $11/month.

Get unlimited Monitor journalism.