A deeply dark midwinter's night
as snow is blown in gentle puffs,
I find myself at window's ledge
my old, worn robe shows tattered cuffs
This treasured robe shares memories
of rocking children as they sleep;
I've worn it by a fevered bed
and kneeled in prayer for dear, lost sheep.
I see a tiny rip was made
by little toddler's reaching hands.
I kissed away his tiny hurts
with patience motherhood demands.
My robe brings comfort as I watch
the feathered snowflakes falling down.
Nor would I trade it for fine silk,
for with it memories abound.
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