To A Wife, On Mother's Day

(For Anita, my Wife)

Especial thoughts, my Darling, come to you,
Served from my heart, with Love that overflows.
Pause for a moment from the things you do –
Observe that Love spread high, in rows on rows.

I prize this day … and prize you as you are –
No measure can suffice to gild your worth!
Since only Angels, here, create a Star,
I prize those Angels, Dear, who gave you birth.

I shall rejoice, and honour you this day –
My honour’s light exceeds that of the Sun!
My honour’s light, my Dear, will not decay,
For it will shine on, still, though life is done!

Respect – My tribute! – Is not common-place,
For those who’ll earn it, dear, will number few.
You’ll stay the utmost prize through my life’s race,
And since there’ll be no more, who’ll rival you?

How can my mind find wisdom to convey
All of those gilded phrases you inspire?
My memory, lacking, lately, breeds delay –
And leaves my mind confused, while it’s on fire.

None of my brazen words are meant to hurt.
How can my love betray, when it is true?
Each word which I express, if mean, or curt,
Lessens my worth, not yours – You’re merely blue.

Since blue’s the shade of honour in the sky,
I plead a faint excuse, and plead for grace;
And as you smile, forgiving, Dear, I cry –
Cherish the thought that no one’s in my place.

All that you do, and foster, day by day,
Assures me that your Love is here to stay.


Copyright © 1997, 2014 by Ronald G. Auguste

Last updated June 10, 2014