My Mother was the dearest person,
Like an angel sent from God.
She filled my life with worth while things,
Especially, her undying love.
She loved me unconditionally,
Though many things she knew,
That didn't deserve the love,
Yet, still her love, was true.
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.
When holidays like Christmas came,
Thanksgiving, and Easter too,
She spent her time baking goodies,
For people just like you.
It filled her heart with happiness,
To see our face light up,
To see our favorite cake or pie
Sitting there on Christmas night.
I can smell her applesauce cake,
And the fresh coconut, tall and white.
And the black walnut cake,
Was strictly out of sight.
There was always a big fruit salad,
With oranges nuts and such,
That always added something special,
For the coconut cakes extra punch.
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.
Of course we had the dressing,
Why, without it what would dinner be?
With all the extra trimmings,
Cranberry sauce and celery.
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.
Who could deserve a special day,
More than a caring mother?
One who always put her family first,
Always thinking of others.
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.
7 / 31 / 2005