Poetry from the Generations 

Mother's Day Remembrance
by Velma M. Carlson

I remember Mamma, oh so well.
The things she did and the stories tell
The poetry she would repeat
With all the youngsters at her feet

I remember snuggling in her harms
When we were kids – home on the farm.
Her face was soft – her hands were strong
All seemed so right – with nothing wrong.

The dolls she made me – from old black socks,
The chair that squeaked whenever she rocked.
I remember the cookies with the raisin face
And hear my Dad, when he said “Grace’.

I remember Mamma sewed all day long
To help my dad so they could get along.
I remember Mamma on Memorial  Day,
How she dressed us all up in the brightest array;

How they took us to town, to march in the parade
And how we picked violets to decorate graves.

I remember Mamma, I’ll never forget.
Sewing most of the night for the pay she could get.
It never was much, I remember that –
But she always could manage with what she had.

I remember Mamma, most of all
How hard she worked from spring to fall.
I remember Mamma at Christmas time.
Our wants were so many – but she was so kind.

She always made something – maybe a dress
But whatever it was – it was fun to guess.

I remember Mamma made everything right
And she’d sit and knit, almost every night.
And now the spring is turning to summer
But I’ll always keep remembering Mamma.  

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