MY MOTHER
Her hair is turning silver now, but her heart is still of gold.
Her spirit yet a young one, tho in years, she’s growing old.
Her eyesight now’s becoming dim, and she’ll admit herself.
She often fails to really see the dust upon the shelf.
Her step’s a little slower now and it has lost its spring.
But as she goes about her work, one still can hear her sing.
Hymns of praise to her Creator from a heart sincerely filled.
With thanks for all the blessings that are hers because He willed.
Her wrinkled hands, they tremble now alas, the work they’ve known.
But still convey the love she feels for each she calls her own.
These signs of age, they bring to mind oh, sweetest memory.
For I remember when I knelt so often at her knee.
I felt those hands caress my own, and wipe my tears away.
Together we would laugh and talk together we would pray.
Then with her eyes, she helped me see the wonder of God’s earth.
Taught me to find in childish trials a little touch of mirth.
She taught me from the Bible which is now so old and worn.
Instilled in me its precious truths from the day that I was born.
Oh, yes, she is still beautiful, her beauty age can’t hide.
For you see, she is MY MOTHER, and her beauty is INSIDE!
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