THE MOTHER

THE  MOTHER

Your children grow from you apart,

Afar and still afar;

And yet it should rejoice your heart

To see how glad they are;

In school and sport, in work and play,

And last, in wedded bliss

How others claim with joy to-day

The lips you used to kiss.

Your children distant will become,

And wide the gulf will grow;

The lips of loving will be dumb,

The trust you used to know

Will in another's heart repose,

Another's voice will cheer . . .

And you will fondle baby clothes

And brush away a tear.

But though you are estranged almost,

And often lost to view,

How you will see a little ghost

Who ran to cling to you!

Yet maybe children's children will

Caress you with a smile . . .

Grandmother love will bless you still,--

Well, just a little while.

                                    Robert Service  1874 - 1958

 

MOTHER O' MINE

MOTHER  O'  MINE

IF I were hanged on the highest hill,
Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine!

I know whose love would follow me still,

Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine!

If I were drowned in the deepest sea,

Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine !

I know whose tears would come down to me,

Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine !

If I were damned of body and soul,

I know whose prayers would make me whole,

Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine!

                                 Rudyard Kipling

GRAMMER'S SHOES

GRAMMER'S  SHOES

I Da seem to zee Grammer as she did use
Var to show us, at Chris'mas, her wedden shoes,

An' her flat spreaden bonnet so big an' roun'

As a girt pewter dish a-turn'd upside down;

When we al did dra near

In a cluster to hear

O' the merry wold soul how she did use

To wa'k an' dance wi' her high-heel shoes.

She'd a gown wi' girt flowers lik' hollyhocks,

An' zome stockens o' gramfer's a-knit wi' clocks,

An' a token she kept under lock an' key, —

A smal lock ov his hiair off avore 'twer grey.

An' her eyes wer red,

An' she shook her head,

When we'd al a-look'd at it, an' she did use

To lock it awoy wi' her wedden shoes.

She cood tell us sich tiales about heavy snows,

An' o' rains an' o' floods when the waters rose

Al up into the housen, an' carr'd awoy

Al the trudge wi' a man an' his little buoy ;

An' o' vog an' vrost,

An' o' vo'ke a-lost,

An' o' piarties at Chris'mas, when she did use

Var to wa'k huome wi' gramfer in high-heel shoes.

Ev'ry Chris'mas she lik'd var the bells to ring,

An' to have in the zingers to hear 'em zing

The wold carols she heard many years a-gone.

While she warm'd 'em zome cider avore the bron ;

An' she'd look an' smile

At our dancen, while

She did tell how her friends that wer gone did use

To reely wi' she in ther high-heel shoes.

Ah! an' how she did like var to deck wi' red

Holly-berries the winder an' wold clock's head,

An' the clavy wi' boughs o' some bright green leaves,

An' to miake tuoast an' yale upon Chris'mas eves;

But she's now, droo griace,

In a better pliace,

Though we'll never vargit her, poor soul, nor lose

Gramfer's token ov hiair, nar her wedden shoes.

                                                                                    William Barnes 1801 - 1886