My Mother’s Apron
From my Mother’s waist it hung
It always was in place
It smelled of Sunshine pinned to the line
In calico, gingham and lace
The pocket held a treasure trove,
told the story of her day
A marble…
a clothespin…
my hair ribbon too
Tucked in along her way
It soothed my scrape
It dried my tears
It’s corner cleaned the smudge
It was always dusted with baking flour
At Christmas, a bit of fudge
Upon it’s gathers
I’d rest my head and tell her of my woes
What precious words it surely heard…
Heaven records and knows
With her arms about me
My head upon her knee
I would play with her apron strings
while she would speak to me
Speak to me of our Lord and God
Tell me of His grace
But most of all
I learned of Him
While looking up into her face
The Love that shown from her eyes to mine
Taught me all I needed to know
I learned it there
in her aproned lap
How to live…
How to love…
How to grow…
