It’s well to have a special day
By proclamation set
The second Sunday found in May;
But I will gladly bet
Most mothers as they trace the years —
In short or long array —
Will murmur as some scene appears,
“That, too, was mother’s day.”
The day each came; the day they walked;
The day they were baptized;
The day on which they clearly talked
(Those words she’s always prized);
The day small fingers picked for her
That stemless, sweet bouquet
(No other girl did he prefer);
That, too, was mother’s day.
The day her daughter’s gift was brought
In hands that kept it warm —
One more of glue and loving thought
Than true artistic form;
The day he made the school patrol,
Recited in the play,
Or won some cherished childhood goal —
That, too, was mother’s day
The days may honor and reward
Her daughter and her son.
Success may bless with its accord
Their deeds that are well done.
Whate’er their joy — where’er they dwell
‘Twill somehow find its way
To bring to her who loves them well
Another mother’s day.
A Mother