Although Mother’s Day is celebrated on different dates worldwide, ranging from February in Norway, to December 22 in Indonesia, it’s a special day to show appreciation toward mothers and mother figures.
The tradition goes back to ancient Roman and Greek beliefs, and the Catholic Church also adopted the holiday to celebrate Virgin Mary on December 8. On this day, mothers others will most likely be showered with flowers, cards and chocolates. But why not give moms the gift of poetry?
Those who have a gift with words wrote some of the greatest classic poems about mothers and motherhood, and they deserve to be heard or read on this very special day. Perhaps you can write them on the card attached to her gift to make it extra meaningful. Here they are:
“Mother o’ Mine” by Rudyard Kipling
If I were hanged on the highest hill, Mother o’ mine, O mother o’ mine I know whose love would follow me still, Mother o’ mine, O mother o’ mine! If I were drowned in the deepest sea, Mother o’ mine, O mother o’ mine I know whose tears would come down to me, Mother o’ mine, O mother o’ mine! If I were damned of body and soul, I know whose prayers would make me whole, Mother o’ mine, 0 mother o’ mine!
“A Rose for Mother” by Cleo M. Shoffstall
Another Mother's Day is here, Bringing joy and pleasures new, On this special day, Mother dear, I want to remember you. I cannot give you costly gifts, And I've told you this before, No matter what I give to you, You give back much, much more. I'm giving you a pure, sweet rose, Gathered in the early morn, This rose you planted in my heart, The day that I was born. In kindly, loving thoughts of you, And with the faith you still impart, The rose I give to you today, Is the love that's in my heart.
“Unfolded out of the Folds” by Walt Whitman
Unfolded out of the folds of the woman, man comes unfolded, as is always to come unfolded, Unfolded only out of the superbest woman of the earth, is to come the superbest man of the earth, Unfolded out of the friendliest woman, is to come the friendliest man, Unfolded only out of the perfect body of a woman, can a man be formed of perfect body, Unfolded only out of the inimitable poem of the woman, can come the poems of man—only thence have my poems come, Unfolded out of the strong and arrogant woman I love, only thence can appear the strong and arrogant man I love, Unfolded by brawny embraces from the well-muscled woman I love, only thence come the brawny embraces of the man, Unfolded out of the folds of the woman's brain, come all the folds of the man's brain, duly obedient, Unfolded out of the justice of the woman, all justice is unfolded, Unfolded out of the sympathy of the woman is all sympathy; A man is a great thing upon the earth, and through eternity—but every jot of the greatness of man is unfolded out of woman, First the man is shaped in the woman, he can then be shaped in himself.
“A Mother’s Love” by Michael O. Adesanya
There are times only when a Mother's loveCan understand our tears, Can soothe our disappointments And calm all our fears. There are times when only a Mother's Love Can share the joy we feel When something we've dreamed about Quite suddenly is real. There are times when only a Mother's faith, Can help on life's way And inspire in us the confidence We need from day to day. For a Mother's heart and a Mother's faith And a Mother's steadfast love Were fashioned by the Angels And sent from God above...
“The Player Queen” by William Butler Yeats
My mother dandled me and sang, “How young it is, how young!” And made a golden cradle, That on a willow swung. “He went away,” my mother sang, “When I was brought to bed,” And all the while her needle pulled, The gold and silver thread. She pulled the thread and bit the thread, And made a golden gown, And wept because she had dreamt that I, Was born to wear a crown.“When she was got,” my mother sang, “I heard a sea-mew cry, And saw a flake of the yellow foam, That dropped upon my thigh.” How therefore could she help but braid, The gold into my hair, And dream that I should carry, The golden top of care?
“Sonnets are full of love” by Christina Rossetti
Sonnets are full of love, and this my tome Has many sonnets: so here now shall be One sonnet more, a love sonnet, from me To her whose heart is my heart’s quiet home, To my first Love, my Mother, on whose knee I learnt love-lore that is not troublesome; Whose service is my special dignity, And she my loadstar while I go and come And so because you love me, and because I love you, Mother, I have woven a wreath Of rhymes wherewith to crown your honored name: In you not fourscore years can dim the flame Of love, whose blessed glow transcends the laws Of time and change and mortal life and death.
“Tribute to Mother” by John Greenleaf Whittier
A picture memory brings to me; I look across the years and see Myself beside my mother's knee. I feel her gentle hand restrain My selfish moods, and know again A child's blind sense of wrong and pain. But wiser now, a man gray grown, My childhood's needs are better known. My mother's chastening love I own.
“To My Mother” by Edgar Allen Poe
Because I feel that, in the Heavens above, The angels, whispering to one another, Can find, among their burning terms of love, None so devotional as that of “Mother,” Therefore by that dear name I long have called you— You who are more than mother unto me, And fill my heart of hearts, where Death installed you, In setting my Virginia’s spirit free. My mother—my own mother, who died early, Was but the mother of myself; but you Are mother to the one I loved so dearly, And thus are dearer than the mother I knew By that infinity with which my wife Was dearer to my soul than its soul-life.
“M-O-T-H-E-R” by Howard Johnson
"M" is for the million things she gave me, "O" means only that she's growing old, "T" is for the tears she shed to save me, "H" is for her heart of purest gold; "E" is for her eyes, with love-light shining, "R" means right, and right she'll always be, Put them all together, they spell "MOTHER," A word that means the world to me.
“Wonderful Mother” by Pat O'Reilly
God made a wonderful mother, A mother who never grows old; He made her smile of the sunshine, And He moulded her heart of pure gold; In her eyes He placed bright shining stars, In her cheeks fair roses you see; God made a wonderful mother, And He gave that dear mother to me.
“To My Mother” by Christina Rossetti
To-day's your natal day, Sweet flowers I bring; Mother, accept, I pray, My offering. And may you happy live, And long us bless; Receiving as you give Great happiness.
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