If being a mother
Were as simple
As hearts and flowers
And greeting cards—
But it isn’t.
It’s temper and tears,
Anguish and fears—
Mornings
When getting up or lying down
Makes
Little difference.
But every now and then
You look into their eyes
And realize…
Despite all the tiredness
The frustration and fights,
There is something
Of you in each of them—
And for an instant
You know real joy…
Enough to last a whole lifetime—
As long as you remember
This moment
The next time you despair.