I have the dearest little Mother, that ever you did see,
On her next birthday, she’ll be just seventy-three,
But instead of growing older, she grows younger everyday,
And more lovely to look at, as each year rolls away.
Her hair once dark, then silver, is now as white as snow,
She keeps it curled to perfection, it always looks just so,
To me she’s like a picture of “Lavender and Lace”,
She is leading Father Time, a pretty merry chase.
When we think of people growing old, we think of slackening steps,
But my little Mother can run circles round me yet,
She can do twice the work that I can, in less than half the time,
And whatever she touches, she seems to make it shine.
When I give my house a special cleaning, I’ll hear my daughters say,
“Mother it looks like Grandma Allen cleaned up our house today”.
Her life hasn’t been a bed of roses, she had her trials too,
But she met them with a courage that was bound to bring her through.
She lost both her parents by the time she was twelve,
At that age was forced to look out for herself.
To get her education meant working mighty hard
But always her earnest efforts have claimed a just reward.
She met and married Father just after she’d turned sixteen,
The memory of their lovely life together is still her fondest dream.
She brought six children into this world, raised all of them but one
And is till the proud Mother of three daughters and two sons.
She is Grandma to six, has one great grandchild too,
And takes a personal interest in all they say and do.
She is still the mother-hen to her fifty year old chicks,
We feel there is nothing quite so bad that Mother cannot fix.
She is still the Rock of Gibraltar, to which her family clings,
Always ready and willing to spread protecting wings.
About twelve years ago God called our Dad away,
For our very happy/family this was a most unhappy day.
For my Mother, it was the greatest trial she’d ever known,
For it meant not only giving up her Pal, but giving up her home.
She faced this too with a courage that was wondrous to behold
Quickly adjusting her life to fit in the new mold.
One of my sisters had a nice large room to spare,
And Mother decided to make her home right there.
I went to visit her just a few short weeks ago,
I rang the bell, and while I was waiting there you know –
I heard two feet come flying ‘crossed the floor,
So I was standing there laughing, when she opened up the door.
She said, “well come in my dear and tell me what’s the joke”
I stood there laughing for awhile before these words I spoke.
“Flying feet at seventy-two, Mother I just want to say
To walk like that at seventy-two I’d have to start practising today”.
Those flying feet stayed with me, long after I got home,
They gave me the inspiration to write this little poem.
I dedicate it to my Mother, the best a daughter ever had,
And breathe a little prayer in memory of the finest kind of Dad,
Make a wish for myself, each sister and each brother,
That we might grow old as beautifully, as our Father and our Mother.
