It was Mother’s Day
I flew with a mom and her naughty boy
Over biscuity golden clouds
In American skies
From Houston to New York
My mother had her prime in an age
The Wright brothers flew dragon-flies
Sparrows with broken wings
Uncertain of their landings
The mother tended her child
Attending to his every need
Patient, composed, saintly, divine,
Never forgetting to place
Silent kisses on his rosy cheeks
I sat beside her and wept
The noisy child of yore
His hair and thoughts ruffled
Starry eyes distraught
Now caged in a distant past
Like that ubiquitous portrait
Of the crying boy
That adorns our modern walls
Oh mother, thou shalst live ever long!
