My Mother

   

 

 

She is a flower that blooms in February  

 

And her eyes are shining green like the sun reflecting on grass 

 

And her smile is bright like the stars at night 

 

And her laugh is happy and excited waiting for something good. 

 

She is a river that slowly winds down 

 

And her hands are dry from all the pointing, screeding and painting at the house. 

 

And her walk is steady and ready 

 

And her run is a small pace that becomes a sprint. 

 

She is the moon always orbiting around me and the family. 

 

She is my mother, and I am happy for what she does for me. 

 

By Fraser McAdam.