The Privilege of Being a Mother

I come from a literary family. They write poems in small notebooks, in odd hours, and stuff them in drawers.  They never publish anything, never make any money, and never think that they are talented.  Nevertheless, the testaments remain.  Passed down in the family by those who are more interested in family history than in literature, these works have accumulated to something of a body by my generation.  I type them, gather them, treasure them, tell my children about them -- and now finally -- share them.

This poem was written by my aunt, my mother's only sibling.  She had only one child. After reading this poem you may think, as I do, that being a mother was the high point of her life.  

If you are a mother, pat yourself on the back.  You have accomplished the most important job of your life!!!

The Privilege of Being a Mother

She passed me on the street one day

Dressed in her silks and furs,

The dog that trotted on her leash

Was not a common cur,

He boasted ancestors on each side

With a mile long pedigree.

Yet a stab of pity filled my heart,

Though a wealthy woman is she.

Her husband is a kindly man

Generous, loving and true,

Her home is quite luxurious

With broad lands and a beautiful view,

She owns diamonds and jewels rare,

Each worth a princely sum,

But no childish laughter fills the halls

Of the mansion she calls home.

I do not envy her her wealth,

Nor long to take her place,

My jewels rare are two blue eyes

In a laughing, childish face,

My precious gems are ruby lips

And ringlets of golden hair,

Compared to my great treasure,

Her life seems cold and bare.

She has never felt soft, dimpled arms

Around her neck entwined,

Nor held a little hand in hers

With a love that’s undefined,

She has never had a curly head

Laid gently on her breast

With two bright eyes gazing into hers

In confidence and trust.

Would she like a child? I asked myself,

Ah! yes, I think she would

But an unkind Fate denied to her

The joys of motherhood,

And I think if the truth were ever known,

In spite of the fuss and the bother,

She would exchange her wealth and her beautiful home.

For the privilege of being a mother.

Erma I. Walker

10-31-46