I can hear my Mother humming it still|
as she worked at her sewing machine.
It was a hymn that tested one’s will
to make serving others a daily routine.
“Have I done any good in the world today?”
the words to the hymn did proceed.
If the answer were no or one couldn’t say
there followed “I have failed indeed.”
Mother took in sewing for pay absurd
and late in the night she often labored.
Though the Singer’s sound I clearly heard
Mother’s humming was the voice i savored.
It was in its way a lullaby to me in my bed
declaring Mother’s heart was made of love.
It is stitched in my mind as a golden thread,
that will lead me to her side up above.
* * *
Original was lost in the 'white out.'
© 2017 poetryaa3
(All rights reserved)