More Precious Than Gold

Ode To My Mother

When to my mother

my thoughts gently drift,

I picture her face

and the beauty therein

Though worn and weathered

through sickness and wear

her countenance will never

hint of despair.

Her arms open wide

to welcome a child

a kiss and a hug

so tender and mile

Memories of her kitchen

are ones that I treasure,

conversations held there

deliver so much pleasure

The smell of her baking

a joy to behold

my mother you see

is more precious than gold

Reviews

[joeysick]

Hi, great poem! I'd love to turn this into a video if I could.