Rocks and Dust: A Mother's Day Tribute

A mother is a jewel.
Precious to the one who holds it,
And regarded by the rest.

In them both,
The splendor of creation is made manifest.
Like its sparkle,
Mother's smile of approval
Gives dazzle to the eye and joy to the soul.

Like its prism cut in many angles,
Mother practices to become to her children
The many different things they need of her.

Just as it shines forth radiant specks of blue, gold, pink, white;
Mother is nurse, teacher, mentor and friend.

But, deep inside the facets,
As with many a jewel,
Mothers are not without their imperfections --
Their foibles and their frailities.

A jewel is just a rock,
And Mother is but dust.

She hurts, she doubts, she lacks, she fears.
She worries and wonders and wants.

And in the midst of her humanness,
She struggles against herself
To do that for which she was made to accomplish.

She rises above her own weaknesses
To take care and preserve
That which sprang from her own body.

And in time, perhaps...
She heals, she hopes, she's full and she rests.
She trusts and knows and is contented.

-Grafted Branch