A mother took a piece of clay
And idly fashioned it one day,
And as her fingers pressed it, still
It moved and yielded to her will.
She came again when days were past,
The bit of clay was hard at last.
The form she gave it, still it bore,
And she could change that form no more.
She took a piece of living clay
And gently pressed it day by day,
And molded with her power and art
A young child’s soft and yielding heart.
She came again when years were gone;
It was a man she looked upon.
He still that early impress bore,
And she could fashion it no more.
The influence our mothers have had on the shape and quality of our lives cannot be overstated. As the great George Washington expressed for all of us, “All I am I owe to my mother.” Thank you to all the loving mothers who sacrifice self and comfort to mold their children.
Happy Mother’s Day!