Yesterday, at morning tea in the staff room, we were discussing Mother's Day in NZ which was last Sunday.
I mentioned the fact that a lot of my Facebook friends whose mothers have passed away, like mine, don't really relish Mother's Day.
Even the most positive amongst us find it painful to consider that we can no longer celebrate our mothers as we used it. I've lived without my mum for 38 years now and every day is Mother's Day in my world, but I miss that annual celebration with her.
As this is Baggy Trousers, though, I'll leave you with this thought (I've read it a number of times and I'm still puzzling it out):
Mother, I shall weave a chain of pearls for thy neck with my tears of sorrow.
The stars have wrought their anklets of light to deck thy feet, but mine will hang upon thy breast.
Wealth and fame come from thee and it is for thee to give or to withhold them. But this my sorrow is absolutely mine own, and when I bring it to thee as my offering thou rewardest me with thy grace. |
|
No comments:
Post a Comment