Mother

My mother piled her hair,
High upon her head.
With a few short curls in front,
The day that she was wed.

Her hair was soft and silky,
A beauty...I must say.
She moved with refined gestures,
In such a gentle way.

No one said, "They Loved Her",
But I always knew they did.
For love was such a silent thing,
They always kept it hid.

She kept the house so tidy,
She taught us to be good.
I was always close beside her,
And did what ere I could.

This woman...was my mother,
Her gifts were plainly shown.
And I thank my God in heaven above,
To have her for my own.

E.P. 1908 - 1989

Ethel's granddaughter, Leslie