Cream of the Crop

Cream of the Crop

Our mom was tilled from toughest grit,
through broken stone she climbed,
a shy and spindly stalk who learned
to blossom through hard times.

One day, much like a tumbleweed,
into the wind she veered,
and soon she tossed her hopes and dreams
upon a new frontier.

In time, Mom sowed her own garden;
with love, we children thrived.
She nurtured us with strength and faith
and taught us to survive.

She tended with such caring hands-
distress and fears she'd weed.
And when time came, she set us free
believing we'd succeed.

She fondly buried, lovers dear
where memories would grow,
and furrowed in her face, she hid
burdens we'd never know,

Flourishing, our families spread,
though, deep roots we have grown.
Because of her we bloom today
in gardens of our own.

I know one day He'll come for her
and lift her to the top,
for, to the Master Gardener,
she's the cream of His crop.


Written in iambic tetrameter and iambic trimeter (8 6 8 6)
with a rhyme scheme of A B C B