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What A Veil Reveals

She will do up her hair
It will shimmer in a bonnet
Polish those cheeks, fair
She'll reread his dashing sonnet

She'll make herself beautiful
She'll aim to do her very best
To show that she is a prize, wonderful
To show she is out to impress

As a wife, she'll be dutiful
As a mother she'll be loyal
As a daughter she'll tread careful
As a sister she'll dazzle

Her mother's old dress will fit
A borrowed smile for her fears
Her husband's new ring, a finger lit
And a veil, blue to hide her tears

poem by Francisca Darko
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Wonderful Mother

God made a wonderful mother,
A mother who never grows old;
He made her smile of the sunshine,
And He moulded her heart of pure gold;
In her eyes He placed bright shining stars,
In her cheeks fair roses you see;
God made a wonderful mother,
And He gave that dear mother to me.

poem by Morgan Doe
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My mom

poem by Erica German
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Wonderful Mother

poem by Adriane Coles
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What a mother should be

A mother is the one who loves you
A mother puts no drug above you
A mother will never make you cry
A mother will never make you want to die
A mother will help you fight your fears
A mother will help you stop your tears
A mother will keep you safe and sound
A mother will never let you down
A mother will daily say I love you
A mother won’t say I hate you
A mother won’t wish you were dead
A mother won’t forget what you said
A mother won’t close the door
A mother won’t let you be poor
Now I ask you, do you have a mother?
Cause’ I don’t, so don’t bother.

poem by Carlisa Smith
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My Real Goddess

Today my mother
Came to my house
With lots of blessing
And full of good wishing
To live long
Happy and healthy
Progressive and wealthy
My mother
My sweet mother
My beautiful mother
My loving mother
My real goddess
My ever goodness
My first lady I loved
My life my mother
My soul my mother
My God-gift my mother
My pride my mother
My aim my mother
My teacher my mother
My friend my mother
My preacher my mother
My daughter's face look-like my mother
My daughter my little mother
O the Absolute Almighty
Give me my mother
Again and again
And again and again
My mother
Only my mother.

poem by Dr. P. K. Verma
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A Mother Gazes Upon Her Daughter

Is she not lovely! Oh! when, long ago,
My own dead mother gazed upon my face,
As I stood blushing near in bridal snow,
I had not half her beauty and her grace.

Yet that fond mother praised, the world caressed,
And ONE adored me -- how shall HE who soon
Shall wear my gentle flower upon his breast,
Prize to its utmost worth the priceless boon?

Shall he not gird her, guard her, make her rich,
(Not as the world is rich, in outward show,)
With all the love and watchful kindness which
A wise and tender manhood may bestow?

Oh! I shall part from her with many tears,
My earthly treasure, pure and undefiled!
And not without a weight of anxious fears
For the new future of my darling child.

And yet -- for well I know that virgin heart --
No wifely duty will she leave undone;
Nor will her love neglect that woman's art
Which courts and keeps a love already won.

In no light girlish levity she goes
Unto the altar where they wait her now,
But with a thoughtful, prayerful heart that knows
The solemn purport of a marriage vow.

And she will keep, with all her soul's deep truth,
The lightest pledge which binds her love and life;
And she will be -- no less in age than youth
My noble child will be -- a noble wife.

And he, her lover! husband! what of him?
Yes, he will shield, I think, my bud from blight!
Yet griefs will come -- enough! my eyes are dim
With tears I must not shed -- at least, to-night.

Bless thee, my daughter! -- Oh! she is so fair! --
Heaven bend above thee with its starriest skies!
And make thee truly all thou dost appear
Unto a lover's and thy mother's eyes!

poem by Henry Timrod
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I'm My Own Grandpa

It was many many years ago when I was twenty-three,
I was married to a widow, she's as pretty as can be.
This widow had a grown-up daughter who had hair of red,
my father fell in lover with her, and soon these two were wed.

I'm my own grandpa, I'm my own grandpa.
It sounds silly, I know, but it really is so, oh
I'm my own grandpa.

This made my dad my son-in-law and changed my very life:
My daughter was my mother 'cause she was my father's wife.
And then to complicate the matter, though it brought me joy,
I soon became the father of a bouncing baby boy.

This bouncing baby then became a brother-in-law to dad,
and so became my uncle, though it made me very sad,
for if he was my uncle then he also was the brother
of the widow's grown-up daughter, who, of course, was my step-mother.

I'm my own grandpa, I'm my own grandpa.
It sounds silly, I know, but it really is so, oh
I'm my own grandpa.

Father's wife then had a son who kept them on the run.
And he became my grandchild, for he was my daughter's son.
My wife is now my mother's mother, and it makes me blue,
because although she is my wife, she's my grandmother, too.

Now if my wife is my grandmother, then I am her grandchild.
And every time I think of it, it nearly drives me wild.
For now I have become the strangest case you ever saw.
Husband of my grandmother, I am my own grandpa.

I'm my own grandpa, I'm my own grandpa.
It sounds silly, I know, but it really is so, oh
I'm my own grandpa.

poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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Mother, Mother

Mother, mother. My beloved mother,
I hope you know my love for you is like no other.
You do me every favour to show that you care,
And no matter what way we may argue,
I learn that your decisions are all so very fair.

You are a lovely woman and someone to behold,
You're more of a prize to me than any pot of gold.
I see you every day and I think to myself,
"Wow, this angel gave me life! "
This isn't all you're admired for
As I'm sure you make a brilliant wife.

You do every chore around the house;
Where do you get the time?
I'm just surprised that, after so much tiring work,
You're doing rather fine.

At heart, you are very beautiful;
A strong and responsible creature.
Since birth, I have regarded you
As my life-experience teacher.

I'm privileged that you became my mother,
That you were the only one;
You raised me to be me
And gave me hope as big as the sun.

Where would I be without you
Now that every year I've known you,
My endless love for you grew?

I so wish to thank you mother infinitely
For absolutely everything you've done for me.
I have the intention to owe you back, definitely.
Love is all I ask more from you
So you get some back by yours truly: Ste.

poem by Stephen Cahill Furlong
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Stanzas: A Mother Gazes Upon Her Daughter, Arrayed For An Approaching Bridal.

Written in Illustration of a Tableau Vivant