—for my children
I see her doing something simple, paying bills,
or leafing through a magazine or book,
and wish that I could say, and she could hear,
that now I start to understand her love
for all of us, the fullness of it.
It burns there in the past, beyond my reach,
a modest lamp.
From: https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/mothers-day
Date: 2011
By: David Young (1936- )
From Troubles of The World 