HER WORDS

My mother has the prettiest tricks

Of words and words and words

Her talk comes out as smooth and sleek

As breasts of singing birds.

She shapes her speech all silver fine

Because she loves it so;

And her own eyes begin to shine

To hear her stories grow.

And if she goes to make a call

Or out to take a work,

We leave our work when she returns

And run to hear her talk.

We had not dreamed these things were so

Of sorrow and of mirth.

Her speech is a thousand eyes

Through which we see the earth.

God wove a web of loveliness,

Of clouds and stars and birds,

But made not anything at all

So beautiful as words.

They shine around our simple earth

With golden shadowing’s

And every common thing they touch

Is exquisite with wings.

There’s nothing poor and nothing small

But is made fair with them.

They are the hands of living faith

That touch the garment’s hem.

They are as fair as bloom or air,

They shine like any star,

And I am rich who learned from her

From beautiful they are.

Copy write by: ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH