My Mother

God made my mother on an April day,

From sorrow and the mist along the sea,

Lost birds' and wanderers' songs and ocean spray,

And the moon loved her wandering jealously.

Beside the ocean's din she combed her hair,

Singing the nocturne of the passing ships,

Before her earthly lover found her

And kissed away the music from her lips.

She came unto the hills and saw the

That brings the swallow and the geese in turns.

But there was not a grief she deeméd strange,

For there is that in her which always mourns.

Kind heart she has for all on hill or

Whose hopes grew wings like ants to fly away.

I bless the God Who such a mother

This poor bird-hearted singer of a day.