how can she be a saint
it's just a usual day
it's just an ordinary life
it's just a worn out dress
how can she be of any help
with a child in her arms
shopping list in her head
beetroot stains on her palms
how can she be of any good
if she's busy cooking food
when she's playing hide-and-seek
when she's reading children's books
what kind of hero can she be
kissing your hurting, bleeding knee
standing at school gates in the rain
how can she make it to the top
facing your tantrums in the shop
sure that's enough to go insane!
her nite-nite tales, her bubble baths
her smile when you did well in maths
her shoulder taps when life was hell
and queues to get you clothes from sale
her long beach walks, and movie trips
her sandwich boxes, veggie treats
her long work days, and saving fails
caring your bag on hiking trails
this selfless love started to bloom
the day she welcomed you in her womb
the day your heart started to beat
the day she felt your kicking feet
And I have used this time and paint
to show you that she IS a saint
I've seen her halo, of this I'm sure
when she was hoovering your bedroom floor...
© Copyright Beata Dagiel