The Pangs of Motherhood

after sitting across from a mother and a rude child at a banquet


A mother cried, when her child was born,
With the hope that its future be bright.
She lifted and toiled, sacrificed and taught
So that her baby may be brought up right.
At night 'for she slept, she wept and she prayed
That her child may have a good start.
And her child grew and was good
And the smile on her face showed
The gratitude felt in her heart.

But as the child grew, it became rude to the mother
Who grieved at every harsh word,
But she loved her child, so she never said, "No,"
And only a moan the child heard
Seeing a victory, the child's coarseness grew,
And each deed that the naughty child did
Put a scar upon his poor mother's heart
Which she so fervently hid.

Not seeing her pain, the child, with disdain,
Continued to go his own way.
And the scars on the heart of this mother grew
And the pain would not go away.
And before as a man on his own legs could stand,
He had caused his mom so much grief
That all the scars engraved on her heart
Made it impossible for her to breathe.
So she prayed and she cried
Then she lay down and died.
Now, from the grip that the scars
Had placed on her heart,
At last she had found relief.

(c)Margaret Shearin Bell 2002