A Tribute To Mothers Poem by james watkin

To whatever degree we rise
With the world, approved
Upon a monumental throne
A virtueousness shines alone
In our hearts, unmoved.

Warden of souls, with brush and broom.
Aproned - a high rank!
Last, with farewells, with welcomes first;
School days, of relevent fears nursed;
In pride's tears more frank!

Smothering the years' ache like rock
In firmness of will.
Woman, in its diamond acclaim
Of perfectness; whose dull name
Is mother. Mother still!