Somebody’s Mother

The woman was old, ragged and grey
And spent with the chill of a winter’s day,
The street was wet with a heavy snow
And the woman’s feet were aged and slow.
She stood at the crossing and waited long alone,
Uncared for amidst the throng.
When down the street with laughter and shout
Freed from lessons at last let out
The scholar ran past her
With spirits so high
None heeded the glance
Of her anxious eye
At last came one of the merry troupe,
The gayest laddie in all the group
He paused beside her and whispered low
“I’ll help you across if you wish to go”
And so her aged hand
On his strong arm she placed
And so without hurt or harm he guided her trembling feet along
Proud that his own were firm and strong.
Then back again to his friends he went,
His young heart happy
And well content
“She’s somebody’s mother boys, you know,
If ever so poor and old and slow.”
And somebody’s mother bowed low her head
In her home that night
And the prayer she said
Was “God, be kind to that noble boy
Who’s somebody’s son
And pride and joy.”

by Lilly Murden
December 2005 in Wythenshawe Hospital