Classic Poem

For others she may not be fair—
Her furrowed cheeks, her faded hair;
To me she is a treasure rare,
——My Mother.
Her charm how can I but confess!
For there's no other face can bless
And keep my heart from loneliness,
As that dear face
——Of Mother.

So long ago for Mother, young,
The wedding bells were gaily rung;
So long ago glad songs were sung
——For Mother;
And still, to me, she's worthy quite
Of all that's lovely, sweet, and bright.
She's queen today, by her own right,
Queen of my heart,
——My Mother.

For others she may not be fair—
Her furrowed cheeks, her faded hair;
To me she is a treasure rare,
My Mother.
Her charm how can I but confess!
For there's no other face can bless
And keep my heart from loneliness,
As that dear face
Of Mother.

So long ago for Mother, young,
The wedding bells were gaily rung;
So long ago glad songs were sung
For Mother;
And still, to me, she's worthy quite
Of all that's lovely, sweet, and bright.
She's queen today, by her own right,
Queen of my heart,