By John Shackles
To Mother on her birthday
March 8, 1999
Someone special calls you "Blondie", yet others Norma Lou,
But I proudly call you "Mom" with reverence in my voice.
Like a potter molding clay you always knew,
It was your will that finally shaped my
The tears that flow in remembrance of a stately water tower,
Lets me know you sometimes wish God had a different plan.
Yet, His plan and direction for my life will never sour,
Since your never ceasing prayers continue
to make me a man.
I was born into this world by you who met my cries with joy.
I could search in vain for that special gift. What could it be?
Russell Stovers, flowers, and redbirds are a useless child's toy.
What do you give someone that made me
glad I'm me?
And so I came to be someone "I" could be proud of.
I was raised in love by someone that supplied me with the key.
For this I give you, mom, my gratitude and my love.
My gift to you will come that day when
I join you in eternity.