Mothering Sunday Is a Time to Speak
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Mothering Sunday is a time to speak
Of what most days there seems no need to say.
The bedrock love on which we build our homes
Has the salience of eternity,
Enduring underneath the shifting years.
Remembering the selfless love we seek,
Infinite love embodied here in clay,
Nurturing hearts and tendons, souls and bones,
Grace incarnate, frail sublimity,
So might we surround with love our fears.
Umbilical thoughts sustain us through the bleak
Nights that turn so slowly into day,
Dreaming in a desert heaped with stones
As we find sustenance in memory,
Yearning for you still with childlike tears.
Copyright by Nicholas Gordon. Free for personal or non-commercial use.
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