My Mother’s Daughter

An Irish Mother’s Daughter

My Mother

Loved me with a critical eye

Stood up

For me when others criticised

Applauded

My successes quietly

Reminding me

Pride and Vanity was a sin

Showed me

In middle age a mother myself

I was still her child

And

So it was when I was long past

The mothering stage and

My Mother

Was old and delicate

My troubles I still took to her

And she welcomed them.

A mother still