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To me, mothers share a lot in common with farmers.
Like farmers, they toil every day.
They sow seeds without a promise of a sure harvest.
Under the most harsh conditions,
they till the soil, pull weeds, and prune where they believe it is needed.
With no promise of a certain return or a good harvest for all their labor, they work on.
What did my own mother often tell me?
"Mothers hold their children's hands for only a short time -- but their hearts forever."
And for all their efforts, their loving kindnesses, their reluctant punishments --
they tend to slowly fade into the shadows,
hidden from the spotlight of their children's ever-growing focus upon themselves, their wants, their lives.
Mothers often grow ghost-like even in the eyes of their husbands,
chained to the demands of job, bills, and a vitality that is frighteningly leaving them.
For all you mothers out there who feel they are slowly becoming invisible, unappreciated, and alone.
Like farmers, they toil every day.
They sow seeds without a promise of a sure harvest.
Under the most harsh conditions,
they till the soil, pull weeds, and prune where they believe it is needed.
With no promise of a certain return or a good harvest for all their labor, they work on.
What did my own mother often tell me?
"Mothers hold their children's hands for only a short time -- but their hearts forever."
And for all their efforts, their loving kindnesses, their reluctant punishments --
they tend to slowly fade into the shadows,
hidden from the spotlight of their children's ever-growing focus upon themselves, their wants, their lives.
Mothers often grow ghost-like even in the eyes of their husbands,
chained to the demands of job, bills, and a vitality that is frighteningly leaving them.
For all you mothers out there who feel they are slowly becoming invisible, unappreciated, and alone.
That's really lovely, Roland.
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