I recall the poems, <br />That my mother read, <br />The ones she recited, <br />As she put me to bed. <br />Each stanza, each verse, <br />Is engraved in my mind; <br />Transporting me back, <br />Through the years in time. <br />I remember the softness, <br />And love in her eyes; <br />The sound of her voice, <br />So comforting and wise. <br />The paths of my youth <br />So often I tread, <br />All come back to me, <br />In the poems that she read. <br />There were great poems, <br />and small poems, <br />And some known by heart; <br />And some poems with wisdom, <br />For a young life to start. <br />And what she taught me, <br />It cannot be told. <br />But the poems that she read, <br />All come back when I’m old. <br /> <br />01/10/05<br /><br />Gary Bryson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-poems-that-she-read/
