Mother's Raiment

For times when dreams are

All but false realities,

How does freedom come?

In the silent whispering of kind hearts?

A mother’s kind, a mother’s love.

Mothers ought to go

Straight to heaven,

If they are true.

A mother’s love.

Through insufferable conflict,

She still loves,

Holy and wholly.

Then, in what Raiment

Does she travel?

She is not dressed

In perfect gown,

But in anything

Lying around.

Her glory not

To be found.

Unless you hear

A child play.

Then, oh who

Is to say, she

Has no cause,

No purpose?

To this I say.

She is clothed

In eternal raiment.

Glory, for her honor

And kindness shared.

She has built a

Mansion not so near,

But far away.

Her life here, not to be

All glam and glory,

But I have a feeling her life after

Might be more holy.

Brighter than most could dream to see.

She will eternally live with me!