In My Mother's Arms

She alone has the magical touch.

In My Mother’s Arms


When in pain, tears
course down my face
unbidden. My mom, with
love wipes them clean.

None can hear
my crying heart.
None can feel
the numbing loneliness

closing upon me, making
my life a dreary desert.
She alone has the
kind of warmth,

the magical touch to
soothe my grief-stricken
soul, the tearful eyes,
the trembling limbs.

In my mother’s arms
I rediscover lost dreams.
I regain the sap of spirit,
the gift of reaching out.

No amount of gratitude
can make up for the
great boon she blesses
me with, giving me thus,

the taste of her eternal love.



First place winner in Sherri Gibson's Weekly Poetry Contest.