Mama, Mama! Look at you!
You were such a pretty baby;
I see now how you grew to be,
Such a lovely lady.
But all the time I've known you,
You were big and grown up;
You always were my Mother,
And always an adult.
I am amazed as I turn each page,
In my treasured photo book.,
A new you appears before my eyes,
On every page I look.
Mama, Mama! Look at you!
A little person dressed in lace;
What were you? Two ... three years old?
I see you in that baby's face.
Somehow I've never thought of you,
As someone else's little girl,
That you really had another life,
Before we kids came in this world.
Mama, Mama! Look at you!
So young - so pretty - so naive,
So childlike - so precious,
So hard for me to believe.
I guess I always thought,
You were born to be my Mom;
How could you have been a child?
Weren't you my Mama all along?
There you are with your first bike,
Oh, Mama, weren't you thrilled?
But how well could you ride it,
In all that organdy and frill?
Was it hard to wear that hat,
The one with all the flowers?
Its beautiful! You're beautiful!
I wish I'd known you at that hour.
There's a photo of another girl,
Mama, was she your dearest friend?
(She's pretty, too, but not like you,)
Did you share secrets without end?
Mama, Mama! Look at you!
And look at that shy, young man;
It's strange to see you both so young,
You neither one have wedding bands.
One page came loose from that old book,
And fell upon the floor,
With tear-filled eyes I looked at it,
'Til I could see no more.
It held an infant's photo,
With a notation up above,
"MY BABY," in your writing, Mom,
Which showed a Mother's pride and love.
One day, I hope my daughter,
Will look at this very page,
And study it in awe, as I,
And, at her Mother, be amazed.
