I can still see you sitting there,
For long hour into the night,
You at the treadle sewing machine,
Making clothes that fit us kids just "right".

Steadily working the churn,
The dasher sloshing up and down,
Fresh buttermilk and sweet butter,
In the ice box always could be found.

Drawing water from the well,
Filling the wringer washing machine,
Number three wash tubs waiting,
Clothes to rinse once they were clean.

Cooking on a wood burning stove,
Sweat pouring from your brow,
Meat frying in the cast iron pan,
Meals ready on time, though I wonder how.

I wish that I could touch the hands,
That worked so hard back then,
Kiss your soft rosy cheeks,
Feel your arms hug me again.

I took for granted many things,
In youth-not stopping to consider,
The beautiful Majestic Rose of my life,
Would cease to flourish; then wither.

My darling Mother, I miss you so,
Though many years have gone past,
Sweet memories of you ever strong,
Gathered close to my heart will last.

Each passing year I cherish you more,
I treasure your wisdom that still flows,
But most of all I hold forever dear,
The sweet love of My Majestic Rose.

Gayle Davis©
19 April 2006
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