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My Mother was the dearest person,
Like an angel sent from God.
She filled my life with worth while things,
Especially, her undying love.
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She loved me unconditionally,
Though many things she knew,
That didn't deserve the love,
Yet, still her love, was true.
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She always baked us birthday cakes,
Everyone their own special kind.
There never was a secret kept from her,
I think Mother could read our minds.
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When holidays like Christmas came,
Thanksgiving, and Easter too,
She spent her time baking goodies,
For people just like you.
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It filled her heart with happiness,
To see our face light up,
To see our favorite cake or pie
Sitting there on Christmas night.
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I can smell her applesauce cake,
And the fresh coconut, tall and white.
And the black walnut cake,
Was strictly out of sight.
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There was always a big fruit salad,
With oranges nuts and such,
That always added something special,
For the coconut cakes extra punch.
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It was an absolute have- to- thing,
Or it wasn't Christmas dinner.
We never complained about anything she cooked,
For it all was just a winner.
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Of course we had the dressing,
Why, without it what would dinner be?
With all the extra trimmings,
Cranberry sauce and celery.
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And, Oh, that goose, it had to be goose,
Nothing else would suffice,
She worked so hard and long,
Just to get things right.
For us on Christmas night.
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Who could deserve a special day,
More than a caring mother?
One who always put her family first,
Always thinking of others.
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Roses makes a real sweet gift,
But a hug and kiss is so much better.
It's something she appreciates more,
Than a rose or just a thank you letter.
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Faye Reyenga
7 / 31 / 2005
E-mail
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