(Author’s note:Happy Mother’s Day to all the women here who struggle to bring up children to be sensible about life.KJ)

Mother of Waters

The mother of waters flows down to the sea.
In moving through rocks, she is spirit to me.

The boy in me still can remember her sounds
As cooking and cleaning were always her rounds.
She rarely sat down; there was something to do
But always she’d stop just to listen to you.

As selfless as any kind mother I’ve seen
She knew how to read a boy’s will to be keen
Indulgence and patience were all she would need
To foil my plans for some mischievous deed.

I’d stolen some dimes from her friend’s piggy bank
For honesty now, it is her I must thank.
She called me one day to come in for the blame
With crying eyes told me that she felt such shame.

Forgetting her words of some supper quite soon,.
A pal and I hiked out one day in warm June.
We dallied as eight year olds will on a lark
But when we strolled home, it was well after dark.

When Dad went away to some job on the coast,
No job was too low as she struggled to boast.
”It’s been mighty tight but now I’m doing fine.”
As four in one bed was our sleep:I was nine.

Those years were quite lean and I’d often walk home
Across busy traffic from school’s big dome.
I’d come now to know how things were in that time,
By hiking three miles, I had saved her a dime.

We barely had food for us one Christmas day
I think now of how she could make things okay.
By saving and scrimping in ways still not plain.
She managed to buy me a Lionel train.

The stories are many I have from those days,
But mostly I know what I learned from her ways.
She gave to her children great lessons for life.
We learned to be strong in the face of our strife.

The mother of waters flows down to the sea.
In moving through rocks, she is spirit to me.

(Dedicated to Louise Marcella Julkowski 1905 – 1997.She would have been 100 last week.Ken)