My son...

Once again the heart o' this momma holds words she must try to speak.
I pray you find the faith to peer far beyond your days dark 'n' bleak,
For out o' the clouds the warmth o' the sun shall always take a peek
'N' a life filled with nuttin' but sunshine is for you what I seek.

I know that these words I speak to you may seem a measly token.
The magnitude can be measured by the times my heart is broken,
By the tune o' the blues heard on the sunny side o' Hoboken
'N' by the things unspeakable, tales o' which I've left unspoken.

Seasons come 'n' go as quickly as a day turns into twilight.
Spring is nigh upon us as we move 'way from bitter wintry white,
Flora 'n' fauna shall daintily dance in the dawn in delight
'N' I do desire ye joinin' me skippin' in the meadow bright.

When sunny Big Bird hit the streets, love brought him home - a muppet ring.
I give you undyin' love but only you can do the right thing,
Stop behavin' like a chunk o' wood or a puppet on a string
'N' get your act together 'n' His praises we'll gather to sing.

Mankind has the ability to bounce back from a losin' hand.
Life has pushed 'n' pulled you 'n' laughed at you for the places you land,
But you have the elasticity like that o' the rubber band
'N' you can stretch yourself right back into an honorable stand.

Truth be told, Patrick was held captive for years, yet sainthood he won.
I say we don our happy faces 'n' on faith depend upon,
Rather than jitterbug to the jive o' the lies o' the ex-cons
'N' perchance we'll dance the merry jig o' the lucky leprechaun.

I am the proof that one can rise above infernal afflictions.
Regardless o' pathways that led to your internal addicitons,
I must believe your acts are not deliberate derelictions
'N' one day we'll be at peace with the pain o' the past inflictions.

When I turn back in historical time an echo rings from hell.
I hear the cries o' mothers from inside their wet 'n' weary cells,
As their sons 'n' daughters spend years revolvin' in 'n' out o' jails
'N' praise be to the women who must bid these young'uns fare-thee-well.

These are those whom history should hail, women with a unique soul.
Bein' caretakers 'n' peacemakers for the children is their role,
Their parental security radar is always on patrol
'N' in that respect it is our duty their virtues to extol.

My day in Women's History, as Mother, is but an eye blink.
My hopes 'n' dreams for us are to be held in sun-bespeckled ink,
A ray o' sunshine beamin' from Heaven to be our soulful link
'N' the sunlight offers up the cup from which we must simply drink.

...your Momma


©the 5th day o' March 2009 Ruth Cox