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Your love is like the Arizona sun:
Always there, no matter what I do.
Bathed in light, I feel my love for you,
But words are gone before I have begun.
I don’t know why I find it hard to say
The things that rest so deeply in my heart.
It seems almost impossible to start,
As though they’re too ungainly to display.
I cherish you and what you feel for me.
I’m lucky that I have you for a mom.
I love you with a love that’s sweet and calm,
And vast, like some unending inner sea.
You’re the one I’m with when I’m alone;
You’re the place within my heart that’s home.

Here are all your children in one place,
Enshrined behind some glass within a frame.
A picture’s like a word, a sign, a name,
Symbolic of a much more complex grace.
Years of memories lie behind each face,
A wild sea no blessing can contain;
Years and years of love, of joy, of pain,
Of mysteries no heart can hope to trace.
Here are all the objects of your love,
A frozen section cut away from Time,
A summit between dreams and memories,
Which you need only look this way to climb;
An icon for domestic reveries
Through which a thousand answered prayers move.

Her life was not as glorious as some,
Devoted to her children and their children,
Taken up by quiet tedium:
What’s left when dreams are scattered to the wind.
She loved too well, perhaps, and fought too hard
To make a marriage work that wasn’t right.
She was, of all bright loveliness, a shard
Struck off to bring our lives the gift of light.
There are those whose lives are shaped by love;
Whose pleasures, rich and full, are found in giving;
Who make our wild hearts bloom and passions move
Into measured fields made lush by living.
Without her all the gold’s gone from the day;
She will be missed far more than we can say.

Happy Mother’s Day to those whose children
Are those for whom their love must be their womb,
Pleased to labor in a common garden
Pruning plants they would themselves have sown.
Yes, praise to those whose love is notwithstanding,
Mothers who could not be mothers, yet
Of charity and need came to the calling,
Taking from the world what joy they would.
How well the will can ride an errant wind!
Each fate is but the field of our endeavor.
Reason may resist our heartfelt ends
‘Ere we share our passions with another.
So may we all, through sacrifice and love,
Daily do what will our spirits prove,
Asking only for what we might give,
Yielding not our labors but our lives.

Happy Mother๏ฟฝs Day to my dear Mum,

Author of my personality:

Pleased, I hope, with what you read in me;

Pleased, I hope, with episodes to come.

Yet now I, too, would get some pleasure from

Making you the book in which I see,

Of all the players in my family,

The central character, whom I would plumb.

How beautiful to move in that direction!

Each to each a separate source of pleasure,

Reading in the other๏ฟฝs happiness,

๏ฟฝMid much description, underlying love.

So would we deepen the connection,

Discovering new passages to treasure

As we follow time towards tenderness,

Yearning for what years unread will prove.

Happy Mother’s Day to my dear daughter:
A mother, too, and yet my baby still!
Praised be the love that lasts, and always will,
Perched like a star above the windswept weather!
Years pass like clouds beneath the things that matter.
Mothers grasp the grace within the fill,
Older than the stars themselves, that spill
Towards eyes whose tears supply the maelstrom’s waters.
How lucky we, to share it in our bones!
Each a mother, holding what will prove
Redemption’s gift, too dear to be redeemed
‘Ere time renew the miracle again.
So may you, some Mother’s Day, your own
Daughter, now a mother, send such love,
Alive to more emotion than you dreamed,
Yet far beyond the realm of joy and pain.

Happy Mother’s Day to a dear aunt,
As loving as a mother ought to be,
Pleased to act when parents won’t or can’t,
Pleased to act when moms go out to sea.
Yet yearning cannot make an aunt a mother,
Melding aptitude with milk and blood.
One finds joy in giving joy to others;
The other has her joy, if she but would.
Heaven knows the way across the darkness,
Enduring through all manner of regret,
Returning, turning to the fount of stillness
‘Mid mountains of accumulated debt.
So may you this day be satisfied
Despite the grace that fortune has denied,
Alive with love, both given and returned,
Yet blessed with nothing less than you have earned.

“Happy Mother’s Day” means more
Than have a happy day.
Within those words lie lots of things
We never get to say.

It means I love you first of all,
Then thanks for all you do.
It means you mean a lot to me,
And that I honor you.

But most of all, I guess it means
That I am thinking of
Your happiness on this, your day,
With pleasure and with love.

Happy Mother’s Day from far away!
As love has wings, it flies across the sea,
Passing seraphim alight with glee,
Placed in nooks on clouds along its way.
Years cannot such innocence betray,
Morning’s holy light perpetually
On fire within the heart, a pillar we
Then follow through the desert night and day.
Here, then, is my love, and as it lands,
Exchange it for a pigeon of your own,
Returning through the heavens what I once,
‘Ere you were born, delivered to your door.
So are we eternal, though the sands
Demand of us that piece that is on loan,
As love renews, renews the ancient dance,
Yet dancing though the wide world be no more.

Happy Mother’s Day, dear daughter!
All my love to you!
Praised be those who give themselves,
Poised to part the sea!
Years of loving need no quarter,
Making passion do,
Offering a trove of selves,
Though vicariously.
How beautiful the gift of giving
Each the unspent whole,
Returning, turning, like a tide,
‘Ere the moment wanes!
So beautiful, the act of living
Densely through a soul
Alight with wonder at the ride,
Yet soon to take the reins!