Wednesday, October 12, 2016

Dear Autumn, Be Gentle With Mothers







Others cannot see the colors
Where years have seared priceless art
Nor do they know of the autumn
Of a middle-aged mother’s heart

Beneath her skin seasons linger
Where children slipped from Her care
Caught between summer and winter
She learns new reasons for prayer

These are no common arrangements
Scattered like leaves on lost yards
Meekly she bears the estrangements
That comes with changing of Guards

Longing is a two-edged saber
Gratefulness cushions its thrust
Without it middle-aged mothers
Would not have wherewithal to trust

Dear autumn, be gentle with mothers
She senses a chill in your stare
Help her to shoulder the colors
Leading to snow-silvered hair

© Janet Martin



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