Tattered apron and a stout heart,
Soup toiling in a bowl flavored with hugs aplenty,
And ever more’s a part
To paint that picture of Mom—
We remember she:
Who brushed away all the tears,
And our shock of hair covering our view of her unending
Loving support no matter how foolish our fears.
Attending every school play,
Helping with Math and that awful Science project,
And packing the best lunch every day—
Hey, Mom, this is for you.