Mother, when I cry you speak.
You speak of faith, hope and surrender.
You speak of the good to come… when it is time.
You speak of resting in the arms of God:
content, awaiting, present.
Madre, when you speak I cry.
You know of all I wanted that I never got.
You know I’ve been denied
with the little things
with the big things.
Madre, you want to cause me joy.
buying my favorite music, cooking my favorite food.
You pray for me each and every day.
You ask, and demand and beg
that I get what I need
sooner rather than later.
Madre, could I be more like you?
Can you pack a year’s worth of wisdom
and ship it on to me?
Can you include a whole bunch of comfort,
a bit of patience and a bag of joy?
Madre, you say I’m delicate.
You must know because you raised me.
Keep asking. I won’t stop either.
How I wish I could cry in your arms… the arms that know,
the arms that accept, the arms that care.
Madre, you do love me.
Rain your wisdom on me.
Give me a shower of that pure love.
The love that’s silent, safest, whole.
© 2007 tuttysan