My mother celebrates her 80th birthday tomorrow. She’s in Zambia with my aunt and uncle. Before she left, she told me that, at 40, she could never have imagined she’d spend her 80th birthday in Africa.
Zambia: Even lions adore my Mother...
Mother at the Cowboy Church in Livingstone, Zambia
I wonder where I’ll celebrate my 80th birthday? In a space tourist hotel? Hey, it could happen!
To honor my Mother, I want to share a poem I wrote for her 76th birthday.
Daffodils from my yard.
Ode to Spring
Grim, gloomy days. Bleary, bleary.
Barren landscapes. Dreary, dreary.
Frostbite on fingertips. Weary, weary.
Oh when, oh when
come warm tidings of Spring?
Compare the beauty of winter white,
reflecting the sun in brilliance bright,
glinting from mountain peaks in morning light.
Nowhere, nowhere better!
Green gardens of Spring.
Snowdrops, daffodils, and tulips. Jubilee!
Hyacinth and crocus. Fragrant potpourri.
Red bud, dogwood, and cherry blossom trees.
Oh joy, oh joy!
Sweet scents of Spring.
Take flight, old man winter! Harsh adversary.
Melt your frozen pathways. Wary, wary.
Be gone, you wretched nightmare. Scary, scary.
Oh now, oh now!
Come fresh breath of Spring.
A rainbow of blossoms break winter’s rest,
unfurling new colors with unbridled zest.
Fledgelings eager to soar from the nest.
Rejoice, of rejoice!
New life of Spring.
New dawn awakens with birdsong sweet.
Goldfinch and chickadee twitter and tweet.
Fluttering their wings, early morning they greet.
Oh what, oh what?
Melodic offering of Spring.
Bouquets and butterflies. Giving, giving.
Rebirth. Fresh start. Forgiving, forgiving.
Filled with His Spirit! Living! Living!
Oh welcome, welcome!
Glad tidings of Spring.
Spring flowers at the Smithsonian Castle
Happy 80th birthday, Mother.
April flowers to you — from my continent to yours.
