My mother always kept so many Little things like these: Embroidery from pantalettes And trimming from chemise, A ruffle that had once adorned My great grandfather's breast, When shirts were stitched by hand and made With linen of the best. And looking at this hand-work now, In retrospect, it seems Something as dim and far away As half-forgotten dreams; And down the shadowy miles of years I journey till I see My mother, young and golden-haired, Just as she used to be, Untouched by time, with nimble hands That made each stitch so true, The mother who was mine, and yet The one I never knew. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AFTER THE QUARREL by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR BETTY TO HERSELF by EDWARD W. BANNARD THE LOVE THAT PURIFIED by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE TOWARDS DEMOCRACY: PART 4. THE BRITISH, A.D. 1901 by EDWARD CARPENTER SUPPLICATION (1) by ALICE CARY OUT OF THE SHADOWS: AN UNFINISHED SONNET-SEQUENCE 17 by JOSEPH SEAMON COTTER JR. |