Eleven. Nay, ‘twas nine who lived,
For two were swept away from care
Before their childish feet could lead
Them to the comfort of that chair.
‘Twas in a humble home that we
That mottled band, though unaware
Of what each future path would be,
Sought comfort at our mother's chair.
An ample lap, a gentle hand
Laid on a tousled head of hair,
A strength we did not understand -
We learned ‘twas found at Mother's chair.
Although above our senses swirled
The echoes of a family's care,
Baby wails and childish quarrels
Were muted at that tranquil chair.
No need for words, it was enough
To demonstrate the need was there;
Each found the comfort that they sought
In Mother's lap, at Mother's chair.
Though cold winds howled without the door,
And duties may have left it bare,
When ears would ache or hearts were sore
Still there was healing at that chair.
Through many lands my feet have strayed
And suffered aches beyond compare;
In memory now I serenade
The healing balm of Mother's chair.
Should but one wish be mine to give
To suffering children everywhere,
I would request that they might live
In nurture of a mother's chair.
Adeline Foster
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/mother-s-chair/
