Dear Mother, As your first born, I was more than a handful and not an easy child. If there were mischief about I would be sure to find it and cause trouble and strife as young ones are wont to do in the process of learning. If there was an illness, croup, measles, mumps, bumps, broken things and cuts. You were there with your care and unconditional love.
There I was cradled in your arms a child with none other than your jet black hair, blazing blue eyes and golden heart full of love, care and wonder. Then as now, we never knew what the next day would bring. Dad would come up with a new idea or project and off we would be to a new city or town ever with a sense of adventure and wherever the dwelling may be, you made the place home.
Of course I made my own way
and took another path into painting,
the love of words
and Irish things
too deep to tell.
Music in light upon a dew turning leaf,
and knowing of
The kind grace giving sacrifice of the Mother of and to the All that is most sacred
a bond never broken.
More than words can tell
ever be well
Happy Mothers Day
Stephen Craig Rowe