Mother
Authored by Julie Anne Hite
This book began over one hundred years ago. It started with a small, cherished volume of poetry by Edgar A. Guest, published in 1925. That book belonged to my grandmother, Jean Lorraine Dunn, and for decades it has been a family treasure paper-and-ink witness to the joys and struggles of motherhood across an entire century.
As I held that 101-year-old classic in my hands, I realized that while the world has changed—from handwritten letters to instant texts, from horse-drawn carriages to self- driving cars—the heartbeat of a mother has remained exactly the same. However, I felt a calling to bring these timeless themes into this new century, translating the "thees" and "thous" into the language we speak today.
My inspiration for this modernization comes from the two women who showed me what it means to lead a family. This book is dedicated, in loving memory, to my mother, Suzanne Jean Maier, and my grandmother, Jean Lorraine Dunn. They were my first examples of grace, grit, and the "quiet way" of a mother.
I also dedicate this work to my daughter, Anna aka; Aren, you are beautiful, brilliant, and possess a wit that keeps me on my toes. As you head off to conquer the world, I hope these poems remind you that you always have a home base, a "no-judgment zone," and a legacy of strong women standing behind you.
Within these pages, you will find my favorite themes from Guest’s original work—the sanctity of the nursery, the humor of the family car, and the quiet dignity of a mother’s service. But you will also find our modern reality inspired by the cherished women in my life: the "Shero" moms raising kids alone, the "Unsung" moms who mother by choice as a stepmom, and the "Mom Code" that keeps us all sane.
Motherhood is a long, beautiful, and sometimes "tactically deceitful" road. I hope you enjoy this collection; it honors the past while giving the modern mother a voice that is finally her own.
—Brought to you by Life2come.com - With love and legacy.
She never complained about the weight she carried for me,
Or the dreams she set aside as the years flew by.
Her only regret was that she couldn't give more to me—
Back then, I took it all for granted; she was my whole sky.
I remember the long nights she answered when I called,
The cool touch of her hand when I was burning with fever.
She gave up her world so that I could stand tall,
And I find myself wishing I could still reach out and thank her.
Devoted to her child, that was just who she was,
Making the greatest sacrifices seem small and light.
My heart can’t find the words to express it because
She was the steady hand that guided me through the night.
The world sees a man who is seasoned and wise,
With a life of his own and a set of tired eyes.
But to her, he is still just a boy in his prime,
Untouched by the years or the passage of time.
He might be over sixty, with kids of his own,
But she’ll still tell him things he should’ve already known.
And offer advice with a mother’s fierce care.
And though he might smile or pretend to complain,
He knows that her worry is a shield against rain.
To the world he is "Sir," a man standing tall,
But he’s "Son" to the woman who caught every fall.
He listens with patience as she tells the same tale,
A story he’s heard until every word’s stale.
But he bites back his tongue, and he stops his reply,
With a respectful nod and a glint in his eye.
For he knows that the confidence fueling his life—
The strength of a father, through struggle and strife—
Was built on the days she gave him her full heart,
So he gives her his silence; it’s the smallest of parts.
For the bond has a secret the world doesn’t see:
While he’s still her baby, he’s her canopy.
When the lights dim with age and the shadows grow long,
He is the one who is steady and strong.
She’s the heart of his past; he’s the guard of her day—
A "Mama’s Boy" pride that will never decay.
The man may be older, with silvered-gray hair,
But he’s the hero who's always just... there.
The bugles blow, the engines hum, the gears of duty turn,
While in a quiet window, a steady lamp will burn.
The world sees the uniform, the doctor’s coat, the rig,
The businessman in transit, the work that’s hard and big.
But standing on the sidewalk, or waiting by the door,
Are the women holding steady, as they’ve always done before.
There’s the mother, silver-haired, who stands with quiet pride,
Watching as her grown son leaves with duty as his guide.
She taught him how to stand so tall, she gave him to the sky,
And though her heart is heavy, she keeps her head held high.
She knows the cost of freedom, she knows the price of grit,
And every time the flag goes by, she’s there—the soul of it.
Beside her stands a younger face, a wife with much to bear,
Who heads to work with weary eyes, yet finds a smile to wear.
She manages the house and job, she holds the fort alone,
And masks the ache of longing for the man she calls her own.
She does the work of two today, but hides the private pain—
Lest her own heart’s yearning should add a heavy strain.
Glory to the flag that flies above the brave and free,
And glory to the men who serve on land and air and sea.
Whether saving lives in hallways or hauling heavy freight,
A man is only as strong as those who stand and wait.
For the strength of our Republic, in every town and street,
Is found within the mothers and the wives we rarely meet.
They are the silent service, the brave who stay behind,
With a courage of a different and a more enduring kind.
So here’s to every mother, and the young wife standing true,
Who do the work of many, beneath the Red, White, and Blue.
I watch you stand in your cap and your gown,
The smartest young woman in this whole town.
With honors and accolades, a PhD in your sight,
You’ve conquered the books and the long, studious night.
I trust in your brain and the heights you can climb,
But a Mother’s heart operates outside of time.
You’re packing your life, moving miles away,
And there are a few things that I need to say.
Your logic is sharp, and your reason is clear,
But the world doesn’t run on the truths you hold dear.
Intelligence, darling, is a beautiful light,
But it won't always save you in the middle of night.
I taught you the "street-smarts," the gut-check, the "No,"
The common-sense rules that will keep you in tow.
Don’t let your brilliance make you naive—
The world has a way of trying to deceive.
It’s not your judgment I doubt for a second,
It’s the cruel, unthinking world that has beckoned.
It’s the "everyone else" and the choices they make,
The reckless and foolish, the hearts that might break.
One moment, one day, one "popular" thought,
Can change the whole future for which you have fought.
Hold onto your self-respect, fierce and so true,
Let common sense be the shield over you.
If I could be the Mom who protected your youth,
I’d wrap you in safety—and that is the truth.
But you’re grown and you’re ready, you’re brave and you’re bright,
Yet it’s your youth, not your mind, that keeps me up at night.
Go get your degree, let your brilliance catch fire,
But never get "too smart" to sense the quagmire.
I’m proud of you, daughter, more than words can convey,
And I’ll be your anchor, come what may.
Just promise me you’ll trust me to never judge,
And I’ll be by your side if the world gives a nudge.
The guests may have scattered, the music may stall,
But I am still Queen of these four quiet walls.
Don't let the silence or the frame grow so tight
Lead you to think I’ve surrendered my light.
I’m still at the head, I am still in command,
Even if I can’t reach out and take hold of your hand.
They say they "remember me" as I was then,
Before my own body became like a pen.
They flee from the quiet, they’re frightened to see
The power that lives in the center of me.
But don’t you dare mourn me or think I am gone,
I am the Matriarch—the light and the dawn.
Forget me not now, just because I sit still,
Or because I don’t bend the world to my will.
Don’t think I’ve lost stature, or deserve any less,
Just because I’m no longer cleaning your mess.
I carried you through every fever and tear,
I wiped every nose through every long year—
I’ve earned this position, this quiet, this seat,
And my role as your Mother is far from complete.
I’m watching you still through the depth of my eyes,
Where the wisdom of all of my decades still lies.
We speak heart-to-heart in a way they can’t know,
A psychic connection that continues to grow.
So stay by my side, stand steady and tall,
For the love of a Mother outlasts it all.
I am tried, I am true, I am still at the door,
The same faithful Hostess I’ve been from before.
My body is quiet, but my spirit is free—
I am still your Mother. Come sit here with me.
The world hands out the honors and the titles in a frame,
It looks for gold and degrees to validate a name.
And maybe you felt overlooked, the youngest of the fold,
Without the high achievements that the others seem to hold.
I know I’ve been a challenge, and my words were often stern,
With lessons that were difficult for both of us to learn.
I know it felt like I held you back, or kept you from your light,
But I was only guarding you through the shadows of the night.
In my drive to keep you safe, I may have stifled your own dreams,
Caught in the "blender" of my worry and my cautionary schemes.
I feared the world was far too big, too cold, or far too fast,
So, I held the reins too tightly, hoping that your peace would last.
I see now that you’re capable, and I’ve watched you find your way,
With strength and quiet dignity, that leaves me moved today.
I want you now to spread your wings, to live with head held high,
To take the dreams I once held back and reach them toward the sky.
My protectiveness was diligence—the only way I knew—
But now I stand in awe of the able adult I see in you.
You don't need a degree to prove what you are worth,
Your heart is some of the purest gold we have upon this earth.
You move through life with kindness, accepting all you meet,
In a world that prizes winning and the bitterness of defeat.
Your success isn't written in a book or on a wall,
But in the way you help a friend or catch them when they fall.
So don't ever doubt my spirit, or think my love could stray,
I am your biggest champion, more than words could ever say.
I want you in the highest regard, exactly as you are:
A happy soul, a steady heart—my brightest, constant star.
Timid and gentle and loving and true,
That is the spirit and meaning of you.
Not in the crowd or the noise of the day,
But deep in the quiet is "Mother’s own way."
You don't seek the glory or ask for the prize,
You just see the world through a mother's own eyes.
When the path is a struggle and shadows are long,
You’re the one who is steady, the one who is strong.
You don't need a platform, you don't need a stage,
To write your own love onto every new page.
A word of encouragement, a touch of the hand,
The one heart that always will just... understand.
The world may be rushing and changing its face,
But you are the anchor, the comfort, the grace.
You’re the light in the window, the peace in the fray,
And we’re all better people for "Mother’s own way."
Though the years may go by and the seasons may fly,
Your love is the constant that won't ever die.
The elders speak of parchment, of the pen and of the ink,
Of sitting at a bureau with a quiet time to think.
They treasure "snail mail" letters with the stamps all placed just so,
And find our modern methods to be cold or even low.
But I won't carry shadows or a sense of "lesser" grace,
Because I choose to meet my kids within their digital space.
My style isn’t flowery, I don’t own a fancy pen,
I’m texting in the morning and I’m calling them again.
I’m "pinging" and I’m "posting," I am present on the screen,
Because that’s where my children live—and that’s where I am seen.
I don’t need folded cardstock to let my feelings show,
I need to be the person that my children actually know.
To the elders that we honor: our respect will never fade,
But the way we talk is changing in the world that we have made.
We know it is a strain for you, we know it feels so fast,
But our love is just as steady as the letters in your past.
So hold on tight and trust us—we’re Mothers just like you,
Trying to keep the balance in everything we do.
Don’t take it all so personal, or feel we’ve lost track,
If we missed the local post office or the Hallmark greeting rack.
Our hands are full of groceries, our phones are full of life,
Managing the roles of Mother, Daughter, and Wife.
Unite! and drop the burden of the "way it used to be,"
The goal is simply connection, and the heart is remarkably free.
Whether written on a tablet or a screen with glowing light,
A mother’s voice is sacred when it reaches through the night.
So let us stop the judging, and let the division fall—
The mother who connects is the greatest of them all.
The world looks for a likeness, a familiar curve of face,
To name a woman "Mother" and grant her in that space.
But there’s a quiet army standing steady in the light,
Who didn’t hold the cradle in the middle of the night—
Yet they are there in the trenches, with a heart that’s open wide,
Walking through the chaos with a Mother’s sense of pride.
To the Stepmom in the hallway, walking lines of thin-spun glass,
Watching as the triumphs and the heavy moments pass.
She offers up her wisdom, but she holds her silent tongue,
Doing all the heavy lifting while the praises go unsung.
She’s the hero in the shadow, she’s the anchor in the gale,
Providing all the strength of home when other anchors fail.
And to the Aunties and the Teachers, the neighbors down the way,
Who pour their spirits into lives throughout the busy day.
They see the things a parent misses, through a lens that’s clear and true,
Offering a different light that helps a child grow and through.
Without the bias of the blood, they see the soul within,
And love a child for who they are, beneath the surface skin.
It isn't "sympathy" you need, for there is nothing to regret,
You’ve given gifts of character that the world hasn't seen yet.
To mother is a verb, an act, a spirit you release,
To bring a child comfort or to bring a household peace.
Your "barren womb" is irrelevant when your heart is overflowing,
For you are the very reason that a thousand seeds are growing.
So, here’s to the "Unsung Hero," to the woman standing tall,
Who answers to no "title" but responds to every call.
You are a Mother in the truest sense—the highest of the fold,
With a legacy of love that’s worth a hundred times the gold.
The house is hushed and the day is done,
The chores are finished, every one.
The world outside may rush and roar,
But peace has settled at the door.
For in the rocker, still and deep,
A mother watches her baby sleep.
And in that gaze, so calm and fair,
Is the answer to every silent prayer.
She doesn't see the mountain’s height,
Or the silver stars that crown the night.
She doesn't hear the wind’s low sigh,
Or the distant city passing by.
Her world is held within her arm,
A tiny life she shields from harm.
The greatest prize that a soul can win
Is the quiet room she’s standing in.
The king may boast of his golden throne,
And the wealth and power he calls his own;
The scholar may pride in the books he’s read,
And the heavy truths within his head.
But they know nothing of the grace
Found in a sleeping infant’s face,
Or the holy light that fills the air
When a mother whispers a blessing there.
It is the oldest story told,
A bond that never can grow old.
The years will change the street and town,
And tear the ancient kingdoms down.
But while there is a moon to shine,
And a mother’s arms to intertwine,
The world is safe and the world is right,
By the glow of a nursery lamp tonight.
Before we even leave the drive, Ma’s checking every screen,
"Is that a warning light?" she asks. "What does that 'Sensor' mean?"
Dad tries to keep his cool and says, "It’s just a software update, dear,"
But Ma is bracing for the worst before he’s shifted gear.
"The map says there’s a slowdown, take the bypass on the right!
And watch that biker on the curb—he’s wearing neon and white!"
We haven't hit the highway yet, but Ma is in command,
With a coffee in her holder and a phone within her hand.
"You’re following too closely, Bill! The 'Auto-Pilot's' on?
I don’t trust that computer, I’ll be glad when we are gone!
Did you see that silver SUV? He’s merging way too fast!
I swear, with how these people drive, I hope this trip’s our last."
The car begins to beep and chime, a chorus of alarm,
As Ma lets out a little gasp and grabs Dad by the arm.
"The lane-assist is vibrating! We’re drifting to the left!"
(Dad’s patience, at this point, is looking quite bereft).
"I’m centered in the lane, Louise! The car is doing fine!"
"Well, tell the car," she snaps right back, "to stay behind the line!"
"And look at that! The battery! We’re down to sixty-four!
What if we hit a charging stall and find a locked-up door?
I told you we should take the truck, the one that runs on gas,
I’m sure we’ll end up stranded while the other families pass!"
She’s looking out the window now, her eyes a frantic blur,
Warning us of "pothole clouds" that only look like them to her.
But then a song comes on the radio—a hit from way back when,
And Ma forgets the GPS and starts to hum again.
She stops the "braking" with her foot upon the floorboard mat,
And tells a joke about the dog and grabs her travel hat.
The tension leaves the driver’s seat; the sensors all go quiet,
As peace descends upon the car and ends the verbal riot.
We love her in the kitchen, and we love her in the hall,
But Ma inside a moving car? That’s the bravest feat of all!
For though she drives us crazy with her "Safety-First" routine,
We know she’s just the guardian of the family and machine.
We remember the weekends of laughter and light,
When Dad was the hero and everything felt right.
He was the "Fun One," the "Yes" and the "Play,"
While you were the one holding chaos at bay.
You were the "No" and the "Work" and the "Rules,"
The one checking homework and driving to the schools.
And we look back with shame at the weight that you bore,
While we left our messes all over the floor.
Now we are married, with kids of our own,
And we marvel at how you could do it alone.
We struggle in pairs, with a spouse by our side,
To manage the chores and the emotional tide.
How did you do it? How did you stand?
With no one to help you, no second hand?
We see it so clearly, now that we’re grown:
You were a "Shero" on a quiet, hard throne.
We love our Dad, and those memories are dear,
But you are the one that we want to be near.
When the bank account’s low or the furnace won't start,
It’s your number we dial—the "Head" and the "Heart."
We don’t call the "Fun One" for guidance or truth,
For the wisdom we lacked in the days of our youth.
We go to the woman who weathered the storm,
Who kept us all fed and kept us all warm.
Forgive us for being a "pain" in those years,
For adding more stress and perhaps a few tears.
We didn't see then that the "Fun" was the easy part,
And the "Steadfast" was what required the heart.
No one compares to the strength that you showed,
As you carried all of us down a long road.
Dad was the party, the guest of the day,
But you were the Home that would never decay.
To our Mother, our Shero, the best that we’ve known:
We’re so sorry it took us this long to have known.
We’ve written of legacy, duty, and pride,
Of the strength that we carry and deep love inside.
But let’s have a moment, just Mother to Mother,
To share all the secrets we’d tell to no other.
The world thinks we’re saints with a plan and a prayer,
But we know the truth of the burdens we bear—
And we know that a saint, when the day’s been a beast,
Requires a glass of "grape juice," at the very least.
"I’m stuck at the pharmacy! The line's out the door!"
While we’re scoring a sale at the boutique shoe store.
We’ll arrive at the pickup a few minutes late,
Then stow all the booty behind the pantry gate.
"That toy is too pricey, it’s not in the budget!"
(While we eye the new handbag and silently judge it).
We claim that the veggie-puree is a treat,
While we hide in the laundry with chocolate to eat.
We say we’re "meditating" with eyes closed so tight,
When really we’re napping and hiding from light.
We’ve mastered the art of the "creative" white lie,
Like, "The Wi-Fi is broken," when we want them to comply—
Or rather, stop crying and go play outside,
So, we can have ten minutes where we don't have to hide.
We’ve used the "Tooth Fairy" to cover our tracks,
And blamed the "Laundry Gnome" for the holes in their slacks.
We’re the CEOs, chefs, and the family’s elite,
But we’re also the experts at tactical deceit.
So here is to us, and the things that we do,
To keep our heads level and see the day through.
Don't judge the "Long Way" we took coming home,
Or the hour we spent in the aisles alone.
For a Mother who’s happy and balanced and fed,
Is better than one who has "Perfect" in her head.
Keep the secret, my friend, let the children stay blind—
It’s the only way Moms can keep peace in their mind!
In the hall of the school, by the third-grade door,
The "Inner Circle" gathers, keeping tally and score.
They’ve built up a fortress of hierarchy and pride,
Leaving the "New Mom" to linger outside.
They’re jockeying for place in a room full of kids,
Raising the stakes on their high-society bids—
But a bake-sale trophy or a kitchen-spent hour
Is a hollow display of a mother’s true power.
To the mom on the outside: don't pull away,
Push through the silence and find your own way.
You don’t need a crown or a seat at the head,
Just volunteer for one small event instead.
Offer to help with a costume or craft,
And soon you’ll be sharing the chores and the laugh.
It takes just one bridge to break through the wall,
To show them that "Mother" is a title for all.
The stay-at-home mother and the one working nine,
Are both seeking light, trying to help their kids shine.
There’s no room for shaming or "who did it best,"
When we’re all facing life with the same daily test.
For the children are sponges,
Soaking up what they see,
Including the "vibe" of our jealousy.
When we divide based on politics, creed, or on race,
We’re teaching our children a very dark grace.
If you have extra time, don’t use it for greed,
But look for the "latch-key" kid truly in need.
Open your door, invite them right in,
That’s where the real work of a Mom should begin.
We may not agree on each parenting style,
But we might learn a lesson if we listen a while.
Friendship with mothers is a lifeline, a light,
That keeps us from drifting alone in the night.
Motherhood’s field is a level, flat ground,
Where the best of our lessons are quietly found.
So let us embrace, let the popularity die,
And look at the world through a Room Mom’s eye.
When we bind together, the future is bright,
And we teach them to lead with a heart that is right.
I held to the words "Until death do us part,"
Like a shield I could carry to guard my own heart.
I believed that to stay was the bravest design,
To honor the vow and the life we’d entwine.
But looking back now through the lens of the years,
I see where my courage was clouded by fears—
The worry of finances, the fear of the "lone,"
The dread of a future I’d build on my own.
We bickered in whispers, we argued in shouts,
While the walls of our home filled with shadows and doubts.
I thought if I stayed, I was doing what’s right,
Shielding my child from a cold, lonely night;
But a child is a witness, a soul and a scale,
Who feels every tremor when two parents fail.
Now she stands in the room, and the air becomes tight,
As she waits for the spark, as she waits for the fight.
Both of your parents were truly at fault,
For a long-term relationship can feel like a vault.
Yet I hope you remember the good and the fun,
With memories that still shine as bright as the sun;
For we laughed and we played in the midst of the gale,
Leaving tracks of a love that was real, though it's frail.
But as every woman knows, mother or not,
A marriage can feel like a thickening plot.
As the years pass away, the anger may fade,
And we look at the choices and trades that we made;
The weight of those years was a heavy-set freight,
And the wisdom we needed has often come late.
The path of the "Empty Nest" looks different now,
As we live with the gist of that original vow.
But a mother’s first calling, her holiest vow,
Is to protect her own child and pivot somehow.
It isn't a failure to choose a new light,
To find a new path that is peaceful and right.
I love him, it’s true, but I still feel the same—
That I could have done better to shield you from flame.
Forgive me, my daughter, for missing the sign;
I was guarding the marriage, while you were on the line.
Welcome to the journey, with your daughter in your arms,
A world of voices waits for you, with advice and false alarms.
The doctors and the neighbors, even mothers of your own,
Will offer up their "certainties" in a confident, loud tone.
But experts can be mistaken, and the crowds can get it wrong,
While the truth is sitting quietly, where it’s lived all along—
Deep within the center, where your intuition stays,
The only light you’ll ever need to navigate the maze.
You carried this fine baby for nine months deep inside,
Feeling every kick and turn with a swell of love and pride.
You may feel a bit fearful now she’s out in the world’s wide light,
But you are bonded by a cord that is hidden from our sight.
She was part of you before she breathed,
she knows your rhythm still,
So trust that ancient mother-pulse,
and the strength of your own will.
Take the fear in stride, my dear, for the bond is deep and true;
No one knows the heart of her quite as well as you.
You’ll worry for the future, for the marriage and the job,
While anxiety and "what-ifs" try to break in and to rob.
You’ll wonder if the universe sees the goodness that you do,
If a reward is ever coming for the heart you’ve poured out true.
But time is just a vessel, and the answers aren't out there,
They aren't in the money or the burdens that you bear.
Value isn't silver, and it isn't gold or greed,
It’s the kindness and the patience that you plant just like a seed.
It is easy to waste time in circles, doing only what is known,
By silencing the whisper of the truth that’s always owned.
But life becomes a tangle when the inner voice is hushed,
When the spirit’s quiet wisdom is ignored or lately rushed.
Don’t listen to the motives of the ones you do not trust,
For advice from hollow spirits only turns your soul to rust.
Ask for help and support, let the village play its part,
But take your final orders from the captain of your heart.
Stop worrying for tomorrow, let the Great Unknown just be,
Set a precedent of stillness that your children’s kids will see.
The universe is watching, and it honors every breath,
Of the mother trusting in herself from birth and unto death.
You have the answers in you; you were born with all you need,
To lead the generations with a holy, quiet creed.
Trust the gift of "knowing," let the circling finally end,
For your soul is the most faithful guide and the truest, oldest friend.
I raised you for the world, for the wind, and the sky,
I taught you to soar and I watched as you’d fly.
Independence was always the goal from the nest,
But I want you to hold to the family crest.
I don’t want to preach or to pull at your sleeve,
Or linger in shadows and quietly grieve—
I just want to hear how your world looks today,
And listen to words that you’ve gathered your way.
It doesn’t take hours; it isn't a chore,
Just a text or a check-in to open the door.
Five minutes to tell me the "whys" and the "hows,"
To break through the silence the distance allows.
I see you and hope we can find common ground,
I’m not here to preach or say something profound.
I just want to meet you right where you are,
And bridge the connection that feels just a bit far.
So give me a ring when the evening is still,
Or a text in the morning to show me your will.
Not because you are "owing" or "burdened" or stuck,
But to share in your spirit and wish you some luck.
I respect the person you’ve turned out to be,
And I hope thoughts of childhood remind you of me.
Just five minutes of "you" makes my universe whole,
And keeps your sweet light in the depth of my soul.
To all of the mothers who have surrounded my days,
I offer a "Thank You" for shaping my ways.
I see you so clearly; it is not in my nature to boast,
But I want you to feel that I value you most.
We may be parted by distance, by time, or by fear,
But in the quiet of my heart, you are always right here.
You may recognize your story in the verses I tell,
And I hope you can feel how my love for you swells.
It only takes a minute for us "girls" to just talk,
Through a text or a call or a shared forever-thought.
I want you, cherished women, to know straight from my heart,
That I love you dearly, and from my soul you’ll never part.
Thank you for your patience and the influence you’ve lent,
For a life full of grace and the memories we’ve spent.
While we are here, let us cherish the time that we’re given,
With the same slow-simmered love that the elders have driven—
Like the women before us, let's linger and stay,
And enjoy one another at the end of the day.
In 1925, a small book of poetry by Edgar A. Guest began its journey through our family’s history, it passed from hand to hand until its pages were tattered and torn by a century of love. Now, 101 years later, those echoes have been reimagined for a new era. "Mother" is a soulful dialogue between the true grit of the past and the complexity of the present. Moving from the "scraps of paper" of a lifetime of notes to a polished collection of modern anthems, this book honors the grandmother’s grace, the mother’s intuition, and the "Shero" within every woman. Whether you are a new mother holding your first miracle or an "old mom" looking back on the road traveled, these poems are a reminder that while the world changes, the compass of a mother’s heart remains the truest guide we have.
Author Julie Anne Hite - All Rights Reserved. Copyright @ 2026
