The Road as my Mother

D

o

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n through life my mother takes my hand.

She leads my with her endless gray path.

As a child the path was immeasurable, or so it seemed.

I played on her as she would protect me with all her signs.

The rules were to avoid her because I could be injured.

To me she seemed to extend her arms out as an invitation.

She was my mother; she could do no harm.

Approaching my sixteenth birthday, my invitation was clear.

No longer a bike to stroll down her extensive path,

But now a new motor vehicle to enter on.

Knowing I have many hills and curves ahead of me,

I plan to trudge s l o w l y to try to please her.

Teaching me new lessons with her radiant yellow smile,

I enter into life on my own knowing,

The hands of my mother will always be below me.