ask a mother's heart
that waits upon each moment
right from the start.
Every turn, every coo,
every kick that turns her blue,
every twitch, every ache...
a million times over she will take
because those nine months were not numbers,
they were worlds she cherished
awake and sedate...dawn to late.
And now, there are fights and senseless squabbles.
There are those 'orders' and sporadic baubles.
Each year that rolls on is a laurel on laurels -
every one a victor, despite the foibles.
And now I stand, the mist filling my eye.
When I look up to you, I can't help but sigh.
My not-so-little man, all of fifteen,
I see it in your eyes, in your manner so keen
that age was never just a number.
Your years, Son, are an appraisal, of goals seen and unseen.
It's my score-card of promise - my graph past the mean.
My heart swells with pride,
as I watch your unmistakable stride.
Your life lies ahead, waiting,
its winds, serenading.
Happy Birthday, my darling, my life, my love, m…