Mother and Father

Sometimes life can bring you down,

A dreaded hurricane whirling down at its foe.

What would you call a family?

We may argue to ends earth,

Crying in the sheets of an abandoned bed.

Love is what is painful,

Tiresome raising a little person can be.

Working day and night,

With little appreciation from one who does not speak.

But a small hand that smells of children,

And a smile from a gift from God.

The tears may hurt,

Streaking down the babies cheeks.

But the laughter that bubbles from the mouth of a small child,

Is worth so much more than a pot of gold.

The spark in a child's eyes,

As it sees the wonder of the world.

Or the snuggles that it will give,

As their parents hold it in their arms.

Protected,

Safe,

and sound.

It may have been a difficult journey,

And my parents may not have been perfect.

But you raised me the best you could,

And I can not explain what I would feel if I lost that.