Classic Poem

When I was a growing child
My Mother, kind and ever mild,
Sat me down before a table
And bought such food as she was able,
Saying, " Eat now, precious lamb.
You need food, for this we came."
From her little store of wealth
She drew forth as if by stealth,
A silver dollar, and saw me eat
What she purchased, bread and meat.
Small the portion on her plate.
She was fed by what I ate.
I looked up and in her eyes
Saw profound contentment rise.
My childish heart observed that she
Feasted well in watching me.