A mother must be many things
First, she is a vessel
Faring seas not so calm

Then she is a gardener
Shining sun with her smile
Willing flowers out of the dirt
And picking out those weeds
Spreading seeds with a hope
That doesn't wither when the snow falls

Then for some time she is an acrobat
Balancing high in the air
Carrying great weight on her shoulders
Still, the audience will never
See her falter

For a while she may be a critic
Stiffly accepting nothing
But the best

But ultimately she is herself an artist
Chiseling and shaping meticulously
With gentle hands

I know
For I have been
Hauled
And tended to
And carried
And sculpted
With great skill
And love
More abundant
Than the oceans she once sailed