To My Mother
Poor recompense to you were I to fill
This page with rhyme and rhetoric, to display
Only the poet and thereby betray.
My earliest thoughts for mere poetic skill.
Poor recompense, indeed, were I to thrill
With my own music, turn to you and say,
“I give you these, my verses, let them pay
For all you gave and all you give me still.”
I am too poor to buy you back the years
A mother pays for with her dreams and fears,
For I am rich in nothing but in love.
So let me live my thanks, so let me be
Forever in your debt, who gave to me
The breath of life—and all the joy thereof.
This page with rhyme and rhetoric, to display
Only the poet and thereby betray.
My earliest thoughts for mere poetic skill.
Poor recompense, indeed, were I to thrill
With my own music, turn to you and say,
“I give you these, my verses, let them pay
For all you gave and all you give me still.”
I am too poor to buy you back the years
A mother pays for with her dreams and fears,
For I am rich in nothing but in love.
So let me live my thanks, so let me be
Forever in your debt, who gave to me
The breath of life—and all the joy thereof.
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