A mother's love and devotion to her children.
|It was not easy raising us three young boys,
trying to sleep with a myriad of noise.
She worked a job of most difficult labor,
always depending on help from a neighbor.
She lived at a time when women had few rights;
her pay was low as she worked into the nights.
I was only ten, my brothers were younger.
She gave us a home; a life without hunger.
She burned all kinds of wood as it got colder;
the stove was stoked when the flames would smolder.
To keep us warm, she closed rooms and heating vents;
we were comfortable while she was intense.
My Dad was killed trying to help a young lass;
I heard a few details at the holy mass.
I was so young, my brothers were younger still.
Dad didn't have life insurance or a last will.
Mom borrowed the money to bury her love;
she spent every cent, cried to the one above.
She worked hard, could never get a promotion;
men at the factory caused the commotion.
"We do not want a woman in charge of us!"
She was qualified but didn't dare raise a fuss.
Those days weren't kind to a woman like mother,
instead it was a place to squelch and smother.
The years have passed, my brothers and I are grown,
our children are in college or on their own.
Mother passed away of a dreaded disease.
The factory closed, gathers dust in the breeze.