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IMG_1610I am working on a different blog post to share with you—hopefully later this week. These days preparing something worthy of your reading time takes weeks rather of days.
But I wanted to share with you the poem my second son put in his card to me this Mother’s Day. No, he didn’t write it himself, but he did take the time to casually ask me who my favorite poets were last week. Then he took the time to rummage through all our poetry books until he found the one he thought I would most love and be most fitting as part of his Mother’s Day offerings. Then he took the time to create his own card on the computer, write the poem into it (or probably copy and paste), along with a personal note and a picture of the two of us in front of Lane Stadium at Virginia Tech last summer.
The poem is by Robert Frost. He is one of my son’s favorite poets as well, besides Shel Silverstein of course—and yes, I understand how peculiar it is to have a twelve year old boy who even name another poet besides Silverstein, let alone claim a favorite.
I hope your Mother’s Day was, as my son wrote in his card, “your most joyful mothers day yet, or at least high up there.” (Ehem—so maybe we could have spent a little more time with grammar in our little home school).

A Prayer in Spring
Robert Frost
Oh, give us pleasure in the flowers to-day; 
And give us not to think so far away
As the uncertain harvest; keep us here
All simply in the springing of the year.Oh, give us pleasure in the orchard white,
Like nothing else by day, like ghosts by night;
And make us happy in the happy bees,
The swarm dilating round the perfect trees.
And make us happy in the darting bird
That suddenly above the bees is heard,
The meteor that thrusts in with needle bill,
And off a blossom in mid air stands still.
IMG_1603For this is love and nothing else is love,
The which it is reserved for God above
To sanctify to what far ends He will,
But which it only needs that we fulfil.