Mom with the Precious Child


None is best,
To build the nest,
Or when I’m sick, to rub my chest
With stuff that smells an awful mess,
But, I love her all the while .

And none is better,
at guessing the weather
And wrapping me up in thick wool sweaters,
(that itch and scratch, and are soft as feathers),
But, they keep the weather mild.

And none can measure,
Can’t think of the treasure,
Of a mother whose knees see constant pressure,
From asking Christ, our lord and savior,
To bless her precious child.

This entry was posted in Fiction / Poetry / Songs and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

4 Responses to Mom with the Precious Child

  1. I wish I had a kinist mom, but nooooooo, she is an ugly radical egalitarian!

    What a burden for my generation, and yet “respectable” conservatives agree that we are the “narcissistic generation”!

  2. shotgunwildatheart says:

    It’s ironic that those of us who think so highly of family life, tend to be ostracized from our own.

    • What happened with this one, Mr. Terry?

      “Protected: Letter to Abbeville”

      • shotgunwildatheart says:

        For the next few days, only certain people can have access. It’s a letter to the president of the Abbeville Institute, and I’m waiting for them to receive it and have the chance at responding, before I make the exchange public.


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