Mama, Mama! Look at you!
So young - so pretty - so naive.
So childlike - so precious,
So hard for me to believe.
I guess I always thought,
You were born to be my Mom.
How could you have been a child?
Weren't you my Mama all along?
There you are with your first bike,
Oh, Mama, weren't you thrilled?
But how well could you ride it,
In all that organdy and frill?
Was it hard to wear that hat,
The one with all the flowers?
Its beautiful! You're beautiful!
I wish I'd known you at that hour.
There's a photo of another girl,
Mama, was she your dearest friend?
(She's pretty, too, but not like you,)
Did you share secrets without end?
Mama, Mama! Look at you!
And look at that shy, young man.
It's strange to see you both so young,
You neither one have wedding bands.
One page came loose from that old
book,
And fell upon the floor.
With tear-filled eyes I looked at it,
'Til I could see no more.
It held an infant's photo,
With a notation up above.
"MY BABY," in your writing,
Mom.
Which showed such pride and
love.
One day I hope my daughter,
Will look at this very page.
And see this old, old picture,
And will also be amazed.
Virginia (Ginny) Ellis
copyright 2001