I looked up
and she was feeding
our first grandchild,
and I regretted
that I wasn't there
when our kids
were that little,
that helpless.
Then I realized
if this were my son,
instead of grandson,
I'd probably be
too worried,
too anxious
to soak up
this moment
of The Divine.
All great artists
have a natural skill,
an inborn passion
for what they do,
and as I watched her
soothe and tend to
this little person,
I thought of
Miles Davis,
Pablo Picasso,
Charlie Chaplin,
Michelangelo,
Mozart,
Mother Teresa.
She is
another great artist
who belongs in
the pantheon,
and her work
is on display
in Oliver.
God, Buddah. This made me cry! It's definitely my favorite of your poems.
ReplyDeleteGeez. I'm a wet mess over here.
and that inborn passion shines right through :) Beautifully written, Mosk!
ReplyDeleteA woman’s work is never done...and she’s getting more expert and you adept at noticing too:)
ReplyDeleteHow sweet. I love "another great artist
ReplyDeletewho belongs in
the pantheon,
and her work
is on display
in Oliver.
This is so beautiful, so loving. To equate motherhood to art is such a wonderful compliment.
ReplyDeleteThe art of being mother... that's one thing we cannot do.
ReplyDeleteCreativity is found in all aspects of life, as is love too.
ReplyDeleteThis is so incredibly beautiful. And so true.
ReplyDeleteSuch a lovely tribute to the woman, wife, and mother.
ReplyDeleteWhat an outstanding poem this is in praise of mothers whether they be wives, mothers or daughters. How I wish that more husbands and fathers would realise what a beautiful prize they have in their wives.
ReplyDeleteWhat a tribute!
ReplyDeleteI envy you, brother ~
ReplyDelete