My Mother was not a perfect one, but most of us aren't I'm afraid.
Her hair was long, and hung down her back or coiled up in a braid,

I loved watching her brush it, while I sat quietly by her knee,
The most beautiful Mom in the world, thru the eyes of one who was three.

She'd dress me up very fine, to take the streetcar down town,
And wander around from store to store, while I, would kick and frown.

She'd pull and tug at bargain tables, and finally after all that,
Wouldn't buy a thing on the table, but would go looking for a hat.

They were her favorite thing's to buy, stacked in boxes on the closet floor,
No matter how many she already had,she always found room for one more.

Then one day my world collapsed, when Mama left Dad, Sis, and me,
It was so hard to understand especially for one just past three.

She wasn't there to guide me thru my difficult teenage years,
Nor to help to bear the burdens, forced upon me by my peers.

There came a time in my life, when I was put to the test,
When God blessed me with babies, and challenged me to do my best.

I found we all make many mistakes, as we go along day by day,
And know my Mom did her best, in her own peculiar way.

Mom's gone but not forgotten, I still love her like no other,
No, she certainly was not perfect, but was my own dear mother