A poem for my mother

Our Mothers
By Christina Rossetti

Our Mothers, lovely women pitiful;
Our Sisters, gracious in their life and death;
To us each unforgotten memory saith:
"Learn as we learned in life's sufficient school,
Work as we worked in patience of our rule,
Walk as we walked, much less by sight than faith,
Hope as we hoped, despite our slips and scathe,
Fearful in joy and confident in dule."
I know not if they see us or can see;
But if they see us in our painful day,
How looking back to earth from Paradise
Do tears not gather in those loving eyes?—
Ah, happy eyes! whose tears are wiped away
Whether or not you bear to look on me.


My mother didn't like me to worry, but I'm worried all the time. I'm worried about my father. I'm worried about my kids. I'm worried about my husband. I'm worried about work. I'm worried about myself. I feel badly that she may be looking down at me and that she may feel sad for me. I miss her so much. A day doesn't go by without thinking about her.