Hi y’all. I’m so thrilled to share this poem by the very talented Rosemary Hovey Everson. The poem really pulled at my heart strings. I think you’ll see why.

My Mother’s Arms

by Rosemary Hovey Everson

I was that three-year old child,

Whose mother held so tight.

In the padded rocking chair,

Creaking back and forth at night.

When my mother’s arms were weary,

She quietly whispered a prayer.

“May God bless you little angel,

 And keep you safe from harm.”

I remember her saying,

“Your mother’s arms are tired,

So I must lie you down.

Don’t ever forget Daddy and I,

Are watching over you now.

 And always remember,

Jesus is watching you, too.”

Mama covered me with a fluffy blanket,

Which my precious gramma made.

She whispered, “Goodnight child”,

And she slowly walked away.

The loving touch of her hands,

And the expressions in her face.

Told me that she loved me,

And would keep me safe.

I watched as she closed the door,

She thought I was sleeping.

I folded my hands praying,

My favorite bedtime prayer.

God Bless you, Mommy and Daddy,

I know you’ll always be here. Amen”

Rosemary Hovey Everson is the author of My Friend Maggie, Fact or Fool, Outburst of Love and The Days of Carina Fielding Minuet. You can read more about Rosemary and get updates of her books by visiting her website at rosemaryeverson.com.

This is a poem I wrote about my grandmother after she died. What an amazing woman my Grandma T. was. She raised 10 children. My mother was smack in the middle of the pack and their father died when my mom was about 12. My grandmother still managed to raise 10 wonderful kids. She was a young woman during the roaring 20s and loved to dance. She was kind, gentle and fiery all at the same time. I’ve never met anyone like her, who could be so humble and yet tough as nails. I miss her greatly, but am so thankful to have had her into my 30s.

She Had Her Mountains

When the world pushed her down, she pulled herself back up.

When she was in pain, she asked, “Are you okay?”

When someone was rough, she still said, “Thank you.”

When those she loved were taken, she knew she’d see them another day.

When she was hungry, she shared her food.

When she didn’t have money, she had her faith.

When she didn’t have mansions, she had her mountains.

A gentle soul,

A gentle reminder,

Of love and faith.

She touched so many lives.

Like ripples in a mountain crick,

Her gentle touch has spread

And will continue…

As long as there are children,

Grandchildren,

Great-grandchildren,

Great-great-grandchildren,

And so on.