Today is my mother's birthday. I could write much about what a wonderful mother she has been, and still is, but I'll start to cry. (Being the sap that I am, I'm already tearing up thinking of what I'd write.)
So instead, in honor of her birthday, I'll share with you one of my favorite poems, The Reading Mother.
The Reading Mother by Strickland Gillilan
I had a Mother who read to me, sagas of pirates who scoured the sea,
Cutlasses clenched in their yellow teeth, “Blackbirds” stowed in the hold beneath.
I had a Mother who read me lays, of ancient and gallent and golden days;
Stories of Marmion and Ivanhoe, which every boy has a right to know.
I had a Mother who read me tales, of Celert the hound of the hills of Wales,
True to his trust till his tragic death, faithfulness blent with his final breath.
I had a Mother who read me the things, that wholesome life to the boy heart brings
Stories that stir with an upward touch, oh, that each mother of boys were such.
You may have tangible wealth untold; caskets of jewels and coffers of gold.
Richer than I you can never be – I had a Mother who read to me.
Happy Birthday, my reading mother. I love you very much.