Mom has always been there when I needed her most
a
c
o
r n e r
stone for my foundation,
she keeps my flag flying, the post.
My rock, an anchor, from waves that rock me rough,
the roots for my tree, when the going is tough.
Rocking me to sleep when I was little, helpless, sad;
my mother hen was patient when I was seething, angry, mad.
Kissing my boo-boos when I hurt my knee.
Pointing out the good stuff when bad was all I could see.
When my lifetime ship took in gallons of water
my bucket and mother came to the rescue, literally 'alma mater'.
Nurturing mother was she, indeed
teaching me how to succeed.
"When life is tough, you've got to keep walking,
while others seeing this, quit all their mocking."
I followed her words, verse for verse
and I don't think my life has treated me any worse.
There's another to mention, by the name of Dad;
when I was grumpy he would make me feel glad.
Songs and games that he secretly hated playing
and shoes and dresses, for which he was the one paying.
We'd colour in adult colouring books;
secretly, I though my stuff had the better looks.
There'd be mountains of 'Franklin' waiting to be read
pile of conversations, still to this day unsaid.
When it was sunny, we mulched the gardens together
in fact, we did - and do - it in just about any weather.
We would pull weeds, but it'd be a lot of fun.
We'd laugh and joke - Mr. gardener, Daddy, would tell us a pun.
Yet others I might tell of, of siblings that tease -
big sister read stories at bedtime about huge, giant peas.
When I got older, she painted my nails,
and removed the smudged paint when all else failed.
Big brother one, he played a role
in teasing and pinching and all that stuff he found so droll.
But he taught me basketball, and how to shoot with the balls
so that every time into the net, it falls!
Big brother two, he's a different story
talk of Jadeland, and wars oh so gory
took place in our fantasy conversations:
he was bad, I good, fighting for our made-up nations!
Friends must be mentioned,
faithful and fun, great fort lines we've tensioned
before they fell on our heads - oh well, another time.
And at sleepovers, we went to bed so late - half-past nine!
We've argued over which colour is indigo -
I was wrong, in the end. Apparently it was the colour of a crow?
They were there to help me, branches from my trunk.
And a tree doesn't flourish without those, like taking from a painting a big chunk.
Cornerstones come in every size
when they try to be helpful, but fail; it didn't hurt, so don't reprise.
They anchor us through the storms and the waves
they aren't scared to help us - that makes them the bravest of the brave.
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