Mother

By Theresa Helburn

1887-1959


I have praised many loved ones in my song,
         And yet I stand
Before her shrine, to whom all things belong,
         With empty hand.

Perhaps the ripening future holds a time
         For things unsaid;
Not now; men do not celebrate in rhyme
         Their daily bread.

DayPoems Poem No. 1147
<a href="http://www.daypoems.net/poems/1147.html">Mother by Theresa Helburn</a>

The DayPoems Poetry Collection, www.daypoems.net
Timothy Bovee, editor

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