Poetry

2:00 oclock in the morning.. as she "cried without a sound"...
Three days after Christmas.. in a sleepy southern town,
The year was 1956.. and Chevy's ruled the road...
When I was born.. Momma's tears was the only pain she showed,
The second born of seven.. while five stood in the wings...
Waiting for a chance at life.. and all the pain it brings,
I've watched her do our laundry.. on a washboard in the cold...
And even though her hands were blue.. her heart was made of gold,
Raising seven children.. alone and somewhere new..
I wonder where she got the strength.. to do the thing's she'd do,
She taught us to be strong and just.. and pray to "God" above...
And I knew if I lost everything.. I'd never loose her love,
We never had much money.. and there was no "silver spoon"...
We were blessed with so much more.. my Mom hung the moon.
                                            sg