Eleven. Nay, ‘twas nine who lived, <br />For two were swept away from care <br />Before their childish feet could lead <br />Them to the comfort of that chair. <br /> <br />‘Twas in a humble home that we <br />That mottled band, though unaware <br />Of what each future path would be, <br />Sought comfort at our mother's chair. <br /> <br />An ample lap, a gentle hand <br />Laid on a tousled head of hair, <br />A strength we did not understand - <br />We learned ‘twas found at Mother's chair. <br /> <br />Although above our senses swirled <br />The echoes of a family's care, <br />Baby wails and childish quarrels <br />Were muted at that tranquil chair. <br /> <br />No need for words, it was enough <br />To demonstrate the need was there; <br />Each found the comfort that they sought <br />In Mother's lap, at Mother's chair. <br /> <br />Though cold winds howled without the door, <br />And duties may have left it bare, <br />When ears would ache or hearts were sore <br />Still there was healing at that chair. <br /> <br />Through many lands my feet have strayed <br />And suffered aches beyond compare; <br />In memory now I serenade <br />The healing balm of Mother's chair. <br /> <br />Should but one wish be mine to give <br />To suffering children everywhere, <br />I would request that they might live <br />In nurture of a mother's chair.<br /><br />Adeline Foster<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/mother-s-chair/
