When you think of a mother’s love, what comes to mind? Kindness. Patience. Gentleness. Goodness. Love.
Perhaps, like the poet Strickland Gillian in his poem, “The Reading Mother”, one thing stands out above all the rest of the many things that our mother may have done.
For Strickland Gillian, his mother’s love was demonstrated through her act of reading to him.
The Reading Mother
I had a mother who read to me
Sagas of pirates who scoured the sea,
Cutlasses clenched in their yellow teeth,
“Blackbirds” stowed in the hold beneath.
I had a Mother who read me lays
Of ancient and gallant and golden days;
Stories of Marmion and Ivanhoe,
Which every boy has a right to know.
I had a Mother who read me tales
Of Gelert the hound of the hills of Wales,
True to his trust till his tragic death,
Faithfulness blent with his final breath.
I had a Mother who read me the things
That wholesome life to the boy heart brings–
Stories that stir with an upward touch,
Oh, that each mother of boys were such!
You may have tangible wealth untold;
Caskets of jewels and coffers of gold.
Richer than I you can never be–
I had a Mother who read to me.
(poem in public domain)
I wish you well.