A Mother’s Day Poem
If I set out on adventure intent to discover,
the world’s most brilliant and beautiful, beguiling mother,
I’d have to travel the world, search far and wide.
Comb every crevice, from every long side.
I’d inspect all the islands and browse all the beaches,
then follow the coastline as far as it reaches.
I’d forage the forests and climb every tree.
But the best mom I’d find is the one who made me.
Other moms are all just rivers.
My Mommy is an ocean.
Other moms stand statue still.
My Mommy stays in motion.
Other moms are only good.
My Mommy’s always great.
Other moms are only sixes.
Mine’s a seven and an eight.
A super star specimen, the cream of the crop.
In a pile of moms I’d find mine at the top.
My Mommy brought me to this world so I’m alive and breathing.
She’s helped me out with everything from tying shoes to teething.
She teaches me all of the things that I will need to know.
She sings with me, laughs with me, and watches as I grow.
We start out at the library and then head to the zoo.
My mommy always plans so many things for us to do.
Other moms are pogo sticks.
My Mommy is a car.
Other moms are tiny planets.
My Mommy is a star.
Other moms are rolling hills.
My Mommy is a mountain.
Other moms are shallow pools.
My Mommy is a fountain.
She’s a big bowl of ice cream, with nuts and a cherry,
hot caramel, whipped cream and strawberries;
bananas and sprinkles, and a striped candy straw full,
of chocolate and tiny baked pieces of waffle.
Each and every bite is so amazingly yummy,
and none of it is leaving any ache in my tummy.
Other moms are daisies.
My Mommy is a rose.
Other moms are nostrils.
My Mommy is the nose.
Other moms are waiters.
My Mommy is the cook.
Other moms are pictures.
My Mommy is the book.
My Mommy is the best around. There isn’t any doubt.
So excuse me if I take the truth and slip it in a shout.
I want to scream it loud enough so everybody hears,
my enthusiastic I’m so proud, I love you Mommy cheers.
I didn’t mean to make you sad by telling you the facts.
I hope you can just sit right down, accept them and relax.
Writer Dad
Sean Platt is a ghostwriting blogger who also tweets.
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