Sonnet for Mother
By Shawn R. Jones
Her arms are walnut brown and warm like June.
Veins wind like vines around an oak tree branch.
Her love for me still makes my aged heart dance
Like cardinals bathing in sunlight of noon
Full of red pride more pregnant than full moons.
Thus, midnight voices do not have a chance
to rain more doubts on my blue circumstance.
Past lullabies still hush me in my room…
And now that I have children of my own,
Mom’s fairy-tales are just a fantasy
In golden age of young simplicity.
Yet, I adore her more now that I’m grown.
And even though we sometimes disagree,
Only my God can love me more than she.