A Poem for Mama


The wild azaleas
were bright
against the green forest.
Their limbs
snapped easily
and lay like pearls
in her small hands.

Wild Azaleas

Wild Azaleas

She hurried home.
Her mama wrapped them
with a fruit jar,
half-filled with water
from the well,
then turned to her daughter
who smiled
brighter than
all the azaleas
left in the forest.

© Freeda Baker Nichols

11 comments on “A Poem for Mama

  1. you can sure paint pictures with your words!


  2. dotlatjohn says:

    Sweet memory, Freeda. Those bouquets presented by little hands were precious gifts. Still are for those fortunate to have little ones nearby.


  3. Good Woman says:

    I remember picking wildflowers and bringing them to mom. I always felt sad because they never lasted very long. I expect mom appreciated them but I remember feeling I should have left them in the woods where they might have survived longer. Your poem is uplifting – I didn’t expect my thoughts to go in this direction.,


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