Henbit Weeds & Motherlove
I once picked for my mother
A bouquet of wildflowers,
Purple and green and blooming,
And she set it primly on the windowsill
In a vase and watered,
Thanked me, her daughter,
With all sincerity.
In fact I had plucked a handful of Henbit
Weeds from our yard, in earnest, yes,
But unaware they made her sneeze,
And it was these she accepted so graciously.
To see the heart behind the action;
To say “come as you are” and mean it;
To celebrate meager gifts of thanks, when mountains are owed,
Because sacrificial love can never be earned or repaid in full,
And the deepest hope is for the loved ones to grow into beings
Pouring motherlove out on all those around them,
Drawing always from the well-spring source.
Motherlove in a bouquet of Henbit weeds.
Originally Published on Faith Danielson
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