By Mrs. Dutton (our favorite neighbor ever)
Come to the woodland this Sunday in May,
Jack-in-the-pulpit is preaching today.
Calling to worship the bluebells are ringing,
Up in the tree-loft the bird choir is singing.
Bright golden buttercups, brimming with dew
Offer the moss, a toadstool the pew,
No statue or painting by man-fashioned art,
But nature's own symbol, the red bleeding hearts.
This poem is speaking to me tonight.
It is whispering memories to me, reminding me of days gone by. Prompting me to think of Mrs. Dutton, the sweet little lady with the fantastic smile and sparkling eyes that could light up my day. Who taught my children so very much and even though they weren't family, still let them call her grandma.
It is screaming at me. Reminding me that I come from fabulous, strong, confident women, who each taught me their "something special". Cooking, compassion, strength, love. They made me who I am.
It is badgering me to take time. To stop and "smell the roses", to enjoy all that is and really see, for I am missing a lot.
This poem is speaking to me tonight. Reminding me how very fortunate I am, for I have not only experienced each of these wonders, but I can associate each one with fabulous women who have sculpted me in one way or another. OMG, I am really fortunate.
But the very best thing of all is that I can share these wonders with my children, helping sculpt them into the fantastic individuals they are now and will be.
That is a true Mother's Day wish come true.
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