Epitaphs
Her Mother's Epitaph
Here lies
A worthy matron of unspotted life,
A loving mother and obedient wife,
A friendly neighbor, pitiful to poor,
Whom oft she fed, and clothed with her store;
To servants wisely aweful, but yet kind,
And as they did, so they reward did find:
A true instructor of her family,
The which she ordered with dexterity,
The public meetings ever did frequent,
And in her closest constant hours she spent;
Religious in all her words and ways,
Preparing still for death, till end of days:
Of all her children, children lived to see,
Then dying, left a blessed memory.
Her Father's Epitaph
Within this tomb a patriot lies
That was both pious, just and wise,
To truth a shield, to right a wall,
To sectaries a whip and maul,
A magazine of history,
A prizer of good company
In manners pleasant and severe
The good him loved, the bad did fear,
And when his time with years was spent
In some rejoiced, more did lament.
1653, age 77
poem by Anne Bradstreet
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An EPITAPH On my dear and ever honoured Mother Mrs. Dorothy Dudley, who deceased Decemb. 27. 1643. a
A worthy Matron of unspotted life,
A loving Mother and obedient wife,
A friendly Neighbor, pitiful to poor,
Whom oft she fed, and clothed with her store;
To Servants wisely aweful, but yet kind,
And as they did, so they reward did find:
A true Instructer of her Family,
The which she ordered with dexterity.
The publick meetings ever did frequent,
And in her Closet constant hours she spent;
Religious in all her words and wayes,
Preparing still for death, till end of dayes:
Of all her Children, Children, liv'd to see,
Then dying, left a blessed memory.
poem by Anne Bradstreet
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To the Memory of my dear and ever honoured Father Thomas Dudley Esq; Who deceased, July 31. 1653. an
By duty bound, and not by custome led
To celebrate the praises of the dead,
My mournfull mind, sore prest, in trembling verse
Presents my Lamentations at his Herse,
Who was my Father, Guide, Instructer too,
To whom I ought whatever I could doe:
Nor is't Relation near my hand shall tye;
For who more cause to boast his worth then I?
Who heard or saw, observ'd or knew him better?
Or who alive then I, a greater debtor?
Let malice bite, and envy knaw its fill,
He was my Father, and Ile praise him still.
Nor was his name, or life lead so obscure
That pitty might some Trumpeters procure.
Who after death might make him falsly seem
Such as in life, no man could justly deem.
Well known and lov'd, where ere he liv'd, by most
Both in his native, and in foreign coast,
These to the world his merits could make known,
So needs no Testimonial from his own;
But now or never I must pay my Sum;
While others tell his worth, I'le not be dumb:
One of thy Founders, him New-England know,
Who staid thy feeble sides when thou wast low,
Who spent his state, his strength, & years with care
That After-comers in them might have share.
True Patriot of this little Commonweal,
Who is't can tax thee ought, but for thy zeal?
Truths friend thou wert, to errors still a foe,
Which caus'd Apostates to maligne so.
Thy love to true Religion e're shall shine,
My Fathers God, be God of me and mine.
Upon the earth he did not build his nest,
But as a Pilgrim, what he had, possest.
High thoughts he gave no harbour in his heart,
Nor honours pufft him up, when he had part:
Those titles loath'd, which some too much do love
For truly his ambition lay above.
His humble mind so lov'd humility,
He left it to his race for Legacy:
And oft and oft, with speeches mild and wise,
Gave his in charge, that Jewel rich to prize.
No ostentation seen in all his wayes,
As in the mean ones, of our foolish dayes,
Which all they have, and more still set to view,
Their greatness may be judg'd by what they shew.
His thoughts were more sublime, his actions wise,
Such vanityes he justly did despise.
Nor wonder 'twas, low things ne'r much did move
For he a Mansion had, prepar'd above,
For which he sigh'd and pray'd & long'd full sore
He might be cloath'd upon, for evermore.
Oft spake of death, and with a smiling chear,
He did exult his end was drawing near,
Now fully ripe, as shock of wheat that's grown,
Death as a Sickle hath him timely mown,
And in celestial Barn hath hous'd him high,
Where storms, nor showrs, nor ought can damnifie.
His Generation serv'd, his labours cease;
And to his Fathers gathered is in peace.
Ah happy Soul, 'mongst Saints and Angels blest,
VVho after all his toyle, is now at rest:
His hoary head in righteousness was found:
As joy in heaven on earth let praise resound.
Forgotten never be his memory,
His blessing rest on his posterity:
His pious Footsteps followed by his race,
At last will bring us to that happy place
Where we with joy each others face shall see,
And parted more by death shall never be.
His Epitaph.
Within this Tomb a Patriot lyes
That was both pious, just and wise,
To Truth a shield, to right a Wall,
To Sectaryes a whip and Maul,
A Magazine of History,
A Prizer of good Company
In manners pleasant and severe
The Good him lov'd, the bad did fear,
And when his time with years was spent
If some rejoyc'd, more did lament.
poem by Anne Bradstreet
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It takes three to make a family
(The Mistress or mother)
My son was a gift,
But his father didn't think so,
He left me alone,
With his son I mind you,
I was just a girl,
And he a man,
He did not care,
He left me bowed eyes and broken,
A Lord was he and I Mistress was I,
We were in two different worlds,
Seperated by our familes,
But our son not like us,
A son forced to see his parents like this,
I can still do te best for him,
His father is a monster not a man,
I am scared for my son,
What of his life?
No, I must do my best for him,
If I don't I'll let both of us down,
Years have past and now my son is a man,
I'm dying slowly,
I don't want my son to worry,
I know that I'm on my deathbed,
And I'm as king forJesus.
(Lord or father)
I did not leave her,
She left me,
I couldn't find her,
I wanted my son,
She didn't give him,
Now she's gone and my son with me,
My son's mother was my late wife,
I wanted them both,
But she sought me to be a demon,
Lies upon lies,
I was persuaded from my mother,
My wife listened to our converesation,
Many years later my son is married,
Now I'm going to meet my wife,
Together in heaven,
We have all eternity,
Jesus please keep our son.
(Son)
I am a man who loves,
Mom and dad didn't know,
I am the birth of their future,
They died without knowing me,
I am their son,
But all their time was fighting,
Mentally and emotional,
I spent my childhood afraid of them,
On a nevering chase against time,
My family will teach and give me love,
Years, many, many, years later,
I am a great grandfather,
Now and finally I am on my deathbed,
And I'm happy,
A tear has fallen out my eye,
I am now ready to reunite with,
Both my mother and father,
Jesus thank you for bringing,
The family together at last.
poem by Qeeony Luv
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As Faithful As Forever
Yes, as faithful as forever, that's how she was to me!
She was noble, she was clever and welcomed chivalry!
She championed every worthy cause and blessed both rich and poor.
She lived obedient to God's laws and loved Him more and more!
Charity was her middle name... Upon the streets she stood!
Collecting funds became her aim - she did the best she could!
With table tops outside the shops and bric-a-brac galore,
My mother truly was the tops with trinkets by the score!
The paperbacks were on display - romances by the ton!
And hand-on-heart, I'll truly say, she'd read them, every one!
She sold them off for cash-in-hand, her charities to bless...
So children in another land would find some happiness!
My mother knew that she was smart, yet she chose to be bold!
My mother had a wondrous heart... Her soul was good as gold!
Lord Jesus told her to prepare as she reached her life's end!
'For all your life you've showed you care. You tried to be a friend.
Your time is near, and so be strong! Have faith, you're in My hands!
I know for life you truly long, yet I have other plans...
Believe in Me, no more than now, when weak and at your worst!
For I am He who will allow your future, blessed or cursed!
Indeed, I've seen with My own eyes your good deeds, one by one!
I've seen your frowns and heard your sighs; I know what must be done!
Your journey waits - be strong, be brave! Yet know tranquillity...
For everyone God bid Me save will always come to Me...'
This prophecy was then relayed to those most dear to her...
So they would know, 'Don't be afraid! ' For such things must occur!
Her last week on this Earth was spent at home then hospital...
She claimed loved ones to her were sent and that she heard them call.
She saw the dead, her family... they waved to her in bed!
Within that week God's prophecy came true as Jesus said...
poem by Denis Martindale
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A Tribute to Our Beloved Mom, ‘STELLA’
(On The Occasion of her Sad Demise …)
Our mom is not alive anymore, oh!
She’s gone to be with God forever, so;
She had a sudden exit from the earth;
Nevertheless, it was a peaceful, death.
Last time I met her, she looked quite healthy;
She was already aged more than ninety;
Her talk and attitude had us impressed;
But in her heart of hearts, she was distressed.
She’d thought, her time had come to say ‘Good-bye’;
She lived as if she was ready to die;
She had prepared for this for quite a while;
She lived in fear of God but fearless style.
Her life was exemplary from the start;
She loved to live but knew she must depart;
She lived a simple life through sheer God’s will;
She kept her cool and wasn’t seriously ill.
We thank Thee God for taking her away!
We thank Thee for keeping her till this day;
To us, she looked so great, almost a Fay;
Her love, we children can never repay!
She looked after herself until the last;
She knew the present, future and the past;
She lived in high spirits, never downcast;
She walked and wrote and spoke so very fast.
We wondered if she was a living saint!
She was a workaholic all her life;
She was so smart in everything she did;
She kept her sanity until the end.
All children loved her very much by heart;
A tower of strength and good advice, she stayed;
She kept so calm in face of trying times;
She prayed the Holy rosary always!
She was the link to all our relatives;
She was beloved in all family circles;
She worked from dawn till dusk, until mid-night;
She was up in the morning ’fore the rest.
Oh, what a fine mother and wife, she was!
Oh, what a nice grand-mother, sibling too!
She was some kind of living library;
She consoled anyone who sought her aid.
Her will-power surprised us very much;
Her words of kindness had a magic touch;
She spoke effortlessly and heard our woes;
She loved all friends, strangers and even foes!
We feel so happy; yet, we want to cry!
We feel so sad but ecstatic as well;
We know our mother no more lives with us;
The loss is irreparable and true!
She left the world on Tuesday, St.Antony’s day!
That was the name of dad, her husband too;
She was so brave until the very last;
Today the earth’s star ‘Stella’ is heavened!
She was a lamp so bright atop life’s hill;
She lived by Word of God and by God’s will;
She served as example to all around;
Her life was founded upon holy ground!
She loved to serve the Almighty always;
She loved her children, husband, all her days;
Her love for God was firm and steadfast too;
For sake of God, her duties, she would do!
She’ll guide her children from her newer place;
In death, she wore a holy, smiling face;
She’s now a blessing for the human race;
Amongst women, she showed she was an ‘ace’!
Fondly dedicated to (late) Mrs. Stella Antoniswamy, CBE
By all her children, grand-children and their spouses
Copyright by Dr John Celes 27-04-2010
poem by John Celes
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God's Greatest Blessing- Mother
The greatest God’s bestowed gift on us is mother.
She who struggles a lot and don’t let pain conquer her children,
She who resists the pain of her children in her womb for nine big months
She who holds the whole world if sees her children in pain,
She is the one whose wish even god cannot disobey
She who often acts lunatic when her children get away from her,
She who never hesitates to stand upon the wishes of her children
She who often tries hard to keep her children on a right path.
She who sees to it that her children are always well-dressed,
When moving outside their homes.
She who teaches her children all the good manners and deeds,
She who connects her feelings and emotions with her children
She who builds up the character of her children,
And provides the nation a good and responsible citizen
But now a days the scenario is quite different,
These were the things of the past tenurant.
Mother remained the same,
But her children have taunted her fame.
Now the children behave in an ill manner,
With their mothers who used to teach them good manners.
With the fast passage of time,
And unexpected growth and development of our world
Technology and science is the thing that conquers the whole blurred.
With no one left thinking about their mothers,
Who once upon a time laid down her life
For their happiness and well being in the future.
poem by Nekhel Mohan Sahay
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Lost and Found
In a southern city lived a wealthy family;
In a southern city was the happy home
Of a father and mother and a little daughter.
In peace and contentment they lived alone.
But one summer evening there happened a misfortune,
Which caused the parents to weep and mourn,
For this little daughter, a loving little treasure,
Was a poor little wanderer far, far from home.
It happened thus, -- the mother went out calling
On a widow friend, who lived all alone;
She left her little daughter in the care of her father,
And through his neglect she wandered from home.
The father rocked his child, till her eyes closed in slumber;
Thought he to himself, I'll go over across the way,
And see a neighbor friend; he'll be there this evening,
And I must see him before he goes away.
He left his little one, he supposed, sweetly sleeping
In her little cradle, in the house alone,
And in his great hurry he left the gate ajar;
This thoughtlessness caused destruction to his home.
Soon after he was gone she awoke from her slumber,
Poor child, she then found herself all alone,
For no one was there, no one heard her weeping
As she wandered away far, far from home.
She wandered along on the busy thoroughbare,
No one seemed to notice this little one alone;
She wandered down Broadway till the little feet were tired,
This poor little wanderer far away from home.
At last, getting weary, she sat down on the pavement,
And soon fell asleep, so tired had she grown;
In her troubled sleep she would softly murmur, papa;
This poor little lost one so far away from home.
A policeman came along and saw her sweetly sleeping,
On the pavement at midnight alone.
He gently picked her up and took her to the station,
This poor little wanderer far away from home.
He advertised, but could not find her parents;
At last he took her to the orphan home,
Where she lived till a farmer in the country
Took her to live with him, this wanderer alone.
The father died o'er the loss of his daughter,
The mother sought for her three years alone;
At last she found her with kind people in the country,
Her poor little wanderer far away from home.
Kind people can imagine the joy of the mother,
When she found her little loving one.
"Oh God," exclaimed the mother, "I have found my little Alice,
My poor little wanderer far away from home.
poem by Julia A Moore
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Nora Sullivan
In their cottage in Claraghatlea she lived with her only brother Dan
And she was way beyond mid life when i was a young man
Her name was Nora Sullivan one who was good and kind
And people of her type are rare and always hard to find.
She lived to a fairly good age and though her I'm never more to see
The mental pictures of her are etched in my memory
A mentor of my childhood years and a privilege to know
I spoke to her for the last time some twenty years ago.
She was a devout lady and religious in a good way
And of any other person she never had bad to say
When I return to Millstreet I will not see her again
But good and fond memories of her till my own end I'll retain.
I always will remember her for her warm smile and kind eyes
And she was an honest person so honourable and wise
The pathway to a moral life she always did pursue
And to her God and her higher self she always was so true.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A Poem to My Father on his 100th Birth Anniversary
Oh, what a great man, father was,
Mere words of mine can’t tell;
His death was surely, great a loss,
For mother, children, well!
A humble man with talents great,
Astounding, erudite;
The lucre of the world couldn’t bait
Him anytime nor bite!
He used his talents God-given,
For sake of poor brethren;
He earned a place good in heaven,
And love of kith and kin!
If he were ’live today, he’ll be
A hundred years of age!
He served well God, the Almighty,
And earned His golden page.
Like bright a star, he shines in sky,
And guides his children, wife;
We yearn to meet him when we die:
What exemplary life!
Dedicated in memory of my loving father,
Shri. A.T.Antoniswamy M.A., L.T., (late)
poem by John Celes
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Born To Be Ransomed
Born to be ransomed,
Born for a reason,
On one side Love,
On the other side Security,
Mabey,
Taken to be placed elsewhere,
Or,
Mabey,
Taken to be placed with them,
Born to be ransomed,
Held ransomed by those,
For security measures of the father and mother,
So,
They are called on by the beckoning,
Of,
Those holding child held by ransomed,
Is what people do when child means,
A lot to mother and father,
Love and security in family keepings,
Born to be ransomed,
With intent to use child,
By the takers of child,
To profit and gain,
For themselves in lifes times,
When child born is then used,
Till,
Mother and father is killed,
And,
Child is then raised in a racket,
For,
What mother and father were,
And,
Left for the child when child grown,
In giving is receiving,
All that has good intentions,
Gives for good reasons,
Yet,
Why one is born to be ransomed,
Is,
The what see's and pre-desires,
The placement and life,
Of,
What two in love have made,
The unborn child then becomes,
The ransom of what wants,
What,
The two have in love and wealth,
When this goes on and child is grown,
The eyes that see and yet do not understand,
Is,
The child raised seeing all,
From,
The good ways,
To the bad ways,
To the cruel ways,
To,
The crimes committed and seen,
Is,
The eyes of seeing,
From,
Been born in a world disrupted,
Is,
A child born and ransomed,
What is of matter,
Mattering to two,
Two in love,
That,
Choose to be one,
One as in a couple,
To matter and be,
For,
What matters to them,
Is,
What brings matter of two,
To,
Become a matter of one,
A,
Child born of two,
Yet,
Now matter's to none,
But,
What ransoms the child out,
Till,
The child grew to be,
And,
Left them all behind,
Knowing,
Mother and father are dead,
Living,
Life knowing too much,
Just,
From been the ransom,
The ransom,
Of,
All,
That,
Is,
Of,
Mother and father,
Till,
All,
Of,
Mother and father's,
Income and places,
Was,
Spent and giving to others,
Tis,
Then,
Ransomed child grown,
Can,
Leave,
With noting,
But themselve,
To have some kind,
Of life,
Somewhere else,
Faraway!
poem by Ellen Ni Bheachain
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Reality spoken of Lies
One night I came home to tears from my mother,
the quietness of my father,
to realize my life would never be the same.
I felt for my sisters, as this is their father,
who has forsaken our mother.
I lost all I had to Lies.
Lonely nights, Lonely days,
Feeling of despair cascaded me, Loss of reality,
Loss of the loving family I thought I had.
No one is there in the shadows to comfort me,
I lost all I had to Lies.
Then to find out the man I loved,
also lied, was painful and so deep.
Another loss, another heart ache,
The shadows tried to reach me,
but loss of reality reached me first, till family intervened.
I found Love I was looking for,
I just had to reach out my hand, they grabbed onto me so tightly, fearing I would fall back, into life of shadows.
Remind yourself of this,
Reality spoken of Lies, may be like a poison,
which spreads till your reality is lost.
But please never fear to seek out that hand,
the one that is reaching out to love you and help you!
Your love is wanted, needed, & cherished by someone.
You may never even have realized they were there to begin with.
poem by Tracy Elizabeth Welter
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The soldiers.
The soldiers in the borders, brave to hold the gun,
The loved ones at home, very insecure in notion,
The day he left carrying the gunny sack,
The heavy boots and heart, none failed to look,
The fear that filled in his eyes with tears,
Mother's heart, sad beyond words can spell,
The helpless father hid his emotion under lid,
The wife and the children, hazy in their vision,
For their only loved one going for a mission,
Siblings, relatives and the friends arrived,
To say goodbye to the man they loved,
The man has gone to protect the borders,
Under the thick forest, falling snow's cold,
He has one thing in mind and recollected many times,
To protect his country, that is breath to his life
The family, That is a few thousand miles away,
Enemies have the detailed master plan,
To conquer each other, puppets of politicians,
Thinking of money spent on warfare,
If spent for poverty, how many of us are poor now,
Wasted resources as weapons, polluted land and rivers,
Wasted young lives and washed out humanity.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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I Wonder How A Man
I wonder how a man should behave towards his wife
Should he love her till he draw his last breath of life
And agree with everything that she has to say
And tell her he loves her many times a day?
Or spend far more time with his mates at the pub
Discussing the welfare of the football club
And leave his wife at home of their children to take care?
The ideal sort of husband to say the least rare.
In the company of men I have spent too much time
Played football, worked and drunk alcohol with them back in my life's prime
To females us males are of different kind
To every good man ten good women you'll find.
Respect to all women all men ought to show
But how a man should behave towards his woman I hardly would know
Since I have never been known as a ladies man
And I'm now in the Autumn years of my life's span.
poem by Francis Duggan
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They stuck by the children.
His mother and his father's mother
Had not been in talking term for life.
Yet they had no enmity between them.
His mother let her love them, six children,
Which should have softened his grandmother.
Her care for them must have pleased his mother.
They never sat near nor scolded each other.
Yet they could not be in enmity
For both wanted the welfare of the children.
It was she who nursed her in her death bed.
Her own sisters, nephews and nieces fled
As the birds did when the tree turned fruitless.
She felt her guilt and confessed it to her
Who, as blessed, had had a good death later.
13.11.2012
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Showing gratitude to a lovely father
My father! My father! My father! I might not have gold to give you. I might not have silver to give you. I might not have money to build houses on the ocean for you. I might not have money to buy yacht for you. I might not even have diamond to give you. Your words and brillant advice is far better than a thousand diamond placed together. Your words and advice makes the eagle soar. How much can i appreciate you.If darkness comes, if heaven falls, and hell is let lose. I will pick you again and again till thy kingdom come as a true and a worthy father. God bless you and spare your life for your children to pay for your kind gestures. All i want you to know is that no amount of payment can be appreciated or quantified to that which you have done for us. I don, t know how else to say thank you sir. I know God will richly pay and reward you handsomely. All what we your children say is that we are pregnant with gratitude with a solemn heart, we will be grateful all the days of our lives. Remain blessed
poem by Olayemi Ayo
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An Odd Conceit
Lovely kind, and kindly loving,
Such a mind were worth the moving;
Truly fair, and fairly true-
Where are all these, but in you?
Wisely kind, and kindly wise;
Blessed life, where such love lies!
Wise, and kind, and fair, and true-
Lovely live all these in you.
Sweetly dear, and dearly sweet;
Blessed, where these blessings meet!
Sweet, fair, wise, kind, blessed, true-
Blessed be all these in you!
poem by Nicholas Breton
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R.I.P: Mom's Death Anniversary,2012
This day, my mother died, two years ago;
It was not shocking as she was too old;
Yet, we could not get over her demise;
Her life and death were holy on the whole!
She lived for Christ and did her duties well;
Her example was worth emulating;
But it was hard to know she was no more;
God gave her happy days until the end!
A mom like her is rare indeed to find;
The way she went about her chores was great;
She prayed a lot whenever she found time;
She trained her children all to be like her!
A cheerful lady always to the core;
Despite her woes, she encouraged others;
In charity, she drew a lot of bliss;
God was foremost in life on earth throughout!
A lovely mother, world could envy much;
A heart of love that swathed the neighbourhood;
A soul that did her many roles with love;
A lady with a remarkable verve!
Until her last, she was not bed-ridden;
All through her life, she tried consoling all;
She toiled incessantly for sake of Christ;
She took her cross and followed Him all life!
A glorious figure, children rarely see!
A mother unforgettable, beloved;
A friend and teacher to her children born;
A voice that guided children to heaven!
May God bless her with eternity soon!
May God reward her ably for her deeds!
May God help her children follow her ways!
May God unite us all some day again!
Fondly dedicated tribute to our beloved mother,
By all her children living today 27-04-2012
Copyright by Dr John Celes 27-04-12
poem by John Celes
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Like No Other...Mother
Mother...
Mother, who gave us her heart...her very soul.
Mother, who's understanding never wavered.
Mother, the one who dried our tears.
Mother, she lead us to the path of His Love.
Mother, who washed our cloths and cleaned the house.
Mother, who instilled confidence in her children.
Mother, who walked us to school.
Mother, who loved us like no other.
Mother, who quelled the anger within us.
Mother, who drove us to all our practices.
Mother, who never forgot our special occasions.
Mother, who protected her family, as a lion to a cub.
Mother, who always supported our father.
Mother, who scrimped and saved for our daily needs.
Mother, who was always the last to eat.
Mother, who was always the first to rise.
Mother, who cared for the animals.
Mother, a love that knew no limits.
Mother, who forever placed her family, before herself.
Mother, who was grateful, for every passing acknowledgement.
Mother, whose eyes shined, when she heard the words,
I love you mom.
Mother, who always saw the good in us.
Mother, who always taught us to never, never, give up.
Mother, who instilled in us, to be better.
Mother, who made us believe, we could accomplish anything.
Mother, mother...mother, you were like no other.
Mother, you will always remain, in our
hearts, in our deeds, in our thoughts,
in our lives and in our prayers.
Surely, beyond the stars, there's a special place for Mothers.
A Tribute To My Revered Father
My Father was a great teacher,
Good husband to my good Mother;
He taught his pupils very well;
In an old house, did he dwell.
Well he reared his children seven!
Lived for up to eight times ten;
His forehead sweat fell on the soil;
My Father so well, did he toil.
A man who possessed great talents;
And honesty par excellence;
Cheap Politics did he eschew;
This world hath seen but very few.
He lived in humble conditions;
A law-abiding citizen;
He gave us good education;
And raised us well in religion.
He’as born and bred in piety;
And rose in popularity;
A logic-man, Philosopher;
None could him well decipher.
A versatile man, Orator;
He tried to make a new order;
Oppressed, he died with plenty peace;
Yet in god, he lived in ease.
His learning to him was his wealth!
Together with his body’s health;
And she was great too, my Mother;
Who well-supported my Father.
A human ‘immortal’-being!
With yeoman-service worth seeing;
He loved the poor and downtrodden;
That fetched him place sure in Heaven.
But one day when he died, I cried!
By Heaven’s words, he did abide;
God-fearing, undaunted, he left;
For his great soul, a lot I wept.
I see him as a bright new Star!
In the night-Sky clearly, afar;
Oh what a great man Father was!
Truthfulness was his greatest cause.
Fondly dedicated in loving memory of my beloved father
Shri. A.T.Antoniswami M.A., L.T., Coimbatore
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mother...
Mother, who gave us her heart...her very soul.
Mother, who's understanding never wavered.
Mother, the one who dried our tears.
Mother, she lead us to the path of His Love.
Mother, who washed our cloths and cleaned the house.
Mother, who instilled confidence in her children.
Mother, who walked us to school.
Mother, who loved us like no other.
Mother, who quelled the anger within us.
Mother, who drove us to all our practices.
Mother, who never forgot our special occasions.
Mother, who protected her family, as a lion to a cub.
Mother, who always supported our father.
Mother, who scrimped and saved for our daily needs.
Mother, who was always the last to eat.
Mother, who was always the first to rise.
Mother, who cared for the animals.
Mother, a love that knew no limits.
Mother, who forever placed her family, before herself.
Mother, who was grateful, for every passing acknowledgement.
Mother, whose eyes shined, when she heard the words,
I love you mom.
Mother, who always saw the good in us.
Mother, who always taught us to never, never, give up.
Mother, who instilled in us, to be better.
Mother, who made us believe, we could accomplish anything.
Mother, mother...mother, you were like no other.
Mother, you will always remain, in our
hearts, in our deeds, in our thoughts,
in our lives and in our prayers.
Surely, beyond the stars, there's a special place for Mothers.