Every wrinkle, <br />marking her skin, burnt parchment, <br />every ache in her body, <br />every Great Depresssion, <br />every dustbowl, <br />all the backbreaking <br />work of men and women <br />who draw sustenance from the earth, <br />every graying lock <br />of her once-silky hair, <br />all the tears she’s shed, <br />all the tables she’s set <br />all the meals she’s cooked <br />when the crops failed <br />and winter loomed; <br />the tender glance <br />she gives her husband <br />when he’s broken <br />by cares: <br />All is written <br />in the holy book <br />of her eyes.<br /><br />Sonny Rainshine<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/migrant-mother/
