To My Mother
by Helen Hart Momsen
I suppose that into every life, a little rain
Lately I have had my share
Very often it seems that
Every time I turn around my skies are gray.
Yet, I seem to catch a glimpse
Of sunshine here and there—but even that is
Useless, unless your eyes are open wide enough
Maybe that’s why God made mothers—to
Open eyes and unclench fists and
Try to make the world a better place to be.
Haven’t I found lately that battles don’t have to be fought alone,
and being my mother doesn’t mean that you can’t be
Even a small patch of blue when embroidered by two minds
Can fashion a lovely