For Mother's Day
A sonnet for the mother of sons,
from their grateful father.
Perpetuating brooding, distant males --
In retrospect the 50/50 curse --
The prodigal of old, familiar tales.
They rarely grasp the gift of motherhood,
The bruin-heart, the sacrifices made;
Obtuse by nature, thinking that she should
Give all she has, they take; they go away.
Yet what she's given lingers deep within,
Though outward feeling he'll not suffer long;
The motherhood within the lonely men
Bursts forth in poetry, in art, and song.
These gentle arts confirm their mother's worth,
Bestowed and nurtured in them from their births.
By J. Thomas Son
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