A picture memory brings to me;
I look across the years and see
Myself beside my mother's knee.
I feel her gentle hand restrain
My selfish moods, and know again
A child's blind sense of wrong and pain.
But wiser now,
a (wo)man gray grown,
My childhood's needs are better known.
My mother's chastening love I own.
But I love the modern mother
who can share in all our joys,
And who understands the problem
of her growing girls and boys.
She may boast that she's older
but her heart is twenty-three...
My glorious bright-eyed mother
Who is keeping young with me.