Mother's Apron
Posted: Thursday, November 27, 2008
by David Pekrul
It hangs there on the kitchen wall,
A tattered apron, that is all,
But there is something I recall,
The love when Mother wore it.
From early morn 'till setting sun,
Her work, it seems, was never done,
Us children kept her on the run,
That apron, I adore it.
When chased by angry bumble bees,
And then my Mother rescued me,
And in the process tore it.
It tells of when I stayed home ill,
With burning fever, then a chill,
And on her apron, tonic spilled,
Because I tried to pour it.
My mother had no fancy clothes,
With satin ribbons, lace or bows,
But in that apron, love she showed,
And we could not ignore it.
And now it hangs upon the wall,
What looked so large, appears so small,
A mem'ry since I learned to crawl,
I know now why she wore it.
If this article is used in any publication, please send a copy of the publication to David Pekrul at
170 Carr Cres.
Okotoks, AB
T1S 1E3
Canada
E-Mail:dpekrul@gmail.com
This Article has been viewed 2,536 times. (Not updated in real-time.)
Top-level comments on this article: (2 total)Great job. Simple and pure and gets the point across.Thank you sir, I appreciate you reading my stuff.
Wonderful work, David. Your talents still amaze me.
How's that book coming?Ken, thanks so much for your comment. As you know, I love writing poetry, and it really helps when someone seems to enjoy reading it. As far a book is concerned, I don't know. Publishers are not really willing to take a chance on a book of poetry, and to publish it myself is really too expensive. I did have a school textbook in Hong Kong publish one of my poems (no money though) and a lot of people seem to use them on their blogs. So who knows, one day I may be discovered. LOL
We want your comments! If you can read this, you don't have javascript enabled, so you can't use this comment system. Please enable javascript.