Thursday, April 22, 2010

Somebody's Mother

Somebody's Mother

by Mary Dow Brine

The woman was old and ragged and gray
And bent with the chill of the winter's day.
The street was wet with the recent snow,
And the woman's feet were aged and slow.

She stood at the crossing and waited long
Alone, uncared for, amid the throng
Of human beings who passed her by,
Nor heeded the glance of her anxious eye.

Down the street with laughter and shout.
Glad in the freedom of "school let out,"
Came the boys like a flock of sheep,
Hailing the snow piled white and deep.

Past the woman so old and gray
Hastened the children on their way,
Nor offered a helping hand to her,
So meek, so timid, afraid to stir,
Lest the carriage wheels or the horses' feet
Should crowd her down in the slippery street.

At last came one of the merry troop,
The gayest laddie of all the group;
He paused beside her and whispered low,
"I'll help you across if you wish to go."

Her aged hand on his strong young arm
She placed, and so, without hurt or harm,
He guided her trembling feet along,
Proud that his own were firm and strong.

Then back again to his friends he went,
His young heart happy and well content.
"She's somebody's mother, boys, you know,
For all she's aged and poor and slow;

"And I hope some fellow will lend a hand
To help my mother, you understand,
If ever she's poor and old and gray,
When her own dear boy is far away."

And "somebody's mother" bowed low her head
In her home that night, and the prayer she said
Was, "God be kind to the noble boy
Who is somebody's son and pride and joy."



This poem touched me deeply. Though my hair is not completely gray... because of my bad knees, I am feeble when I walk, and it always seems... the world is passing me by at a lightening pace.

Gerry said...

I had just seen my great grandson, 9, at the hospital visiting his mother when his little brother was born, the only other child Kellie had had since he was born. He lived with his father during the week who had married a woman with 7 children and then they had one of their own. My son Gary, his grandfather, stepped up to help me navigate the halls of the hospital and Travis said, "Oh I will help Great Grandma." He took my arm and off we went and during the walk he said sweetly, "And what do you like to do, great grandmother? Do you have any hobbies?" I will never forget that little walk with such a courtly lad.

Paula said...

Touching poem. I was so proud once when we were at a restaurant and my friend arrived being pushed in a wheelchair and my very young grandson went to the front to hold the door open for her without being told.

natalie said...

Dear Lori
what a beautiful story! thank you so much for sharing!
Have a wonderful spring!
I miss you!Please come by my blgo and say hi!
hugs, natalie