By Jesus

We can’t all be born first but arrived anyway

After waiting a turn you finally had your day

And all good bairns we would have been

T’was the bottle we were given, instead to wean

For you see in those days, the Pope held sway

No good Catholic knew another way

So the babes kept coming, one every year

Ma couldn’t be held to nurse all so dear

So all were hugged close to those breasts that first month

She’d give us a glance, then pop the bottle in our mouth

How then did the Church utter no complaint?

By Jesus I ‘tink our Mudder might be a saint

And how d’ya explain how she’s both kind and shrewd?

Only the smart ones are like that, this we all knew

It was said she had eyes in the back of her head;

Someone should’a checked under her hair instead.

The way she could trust you but tell you were lyin’

It’s those kinds of things that kept a kid tryin’

There must be something otherworldly about our Ma

You see it in the way she put up with our Pa

What about the way she’s always so nice

Says never a bad word, gives only good advice

All of these gifts are celestial and quaint

It’s just got to be that our Mudder’s a saint

Now 84 years, and many more we please

After all she counts coins with a fair bit of ease

If there is a book, let her name shine bright

For all of us, she’s a beacon of light.

She’s generous and kind but what stands tall,

It’s she’s there when she’s needed and serves us all

I know I’m not wrong ‘bout this picture I paint

By Jesus, I know it: me Mudder’s a saint!

Happy Birthday to our sweet Ma.

Added to on the occasion of Mother’s Day 2014:

Oh wait, but there’s more that I have to tell

There’s a new pope in Rome who’s doing pretty well

He’s been acting lately and without much restraint

About a couple of fellas he thought ought to be saints.

With the world watching not too long ago,

They were all there; even Benedict showed

You know ma’s been told that she’s younger than him

Seventy five they suggested and not on a whim

I find it highly curious that all during ma’s life

Most of the pontiff’s are reaching great heights

I say she’s inside, without a hint of restraint

By Jesus it’s clear, mudder’s a secret saint!

I’ve heard from beyond there’s others begging to be heard

Sure t’was Smallwood asking Ma t’put in a word

Not sure if he can be helped but ma might try

Then again it may be better if he’s left where he lies

We ask of these pontiffs, all their powers divine

To watch very carefully over their sister Caroline

Like a bird who cares little to break branch in tree

We stand by and watch her flight as her family

Ma’s tough and resolved; The Rock makes ‘em strong

We’ll leave all the guessing to Francis, and gone Johns

So don’t be surprised when she puts on the war paint!

By Jesus, we love our mudder, she’s not your usual saint!

Happy Mother’s Day 2014

copyright CKWallace 2012/2014 all rights reserved