Mothers Day Poems and Poetry Collections
The poet can often sum up the words stuck deep in our hearts better
than we can. If you need a poem for Mother's Day or another occasion,
consider these classic and timeless poems:
To My Mother
You too, my mother, read my rhymes
For love of unforgotten times,
And you may chance to hear once more
The little feet along the floor.
- By Robert Louis Stevenson
Women know
The way to rear up children (to be just),
They know a simple, merry, tender knackOf tying sashes, fitting baby shoes,
And stringing pretty words that make no sense,
And kissing full sense into empty words.
- By Elizabeth Barrett Browning
No painter's brush, nor poet's pen,
In justice to her fame,
Has ever reached half high enough,
To write a mother's name.
Life is the fruit she longs to hand you,
Ripe on a plate.
And while you live,
Relentlessly she understands you.
- By Phyllis McGinley
Hundreds of dewdrops to greet the dawn,
Hundreds of bees in the purple clover,
Hundreds of butterflies on the lawn,
But only one mother the wide world over.
- By George Cooper
Who fed me from her gentle breast,
And hushed me in her arms to rest,
And on my cheek sweet kisses prest?
My Mother.
- By Anne Taylor (excerpt from "My Mother")
To My Mother
You too, my mother, read my rhymes
For love of unforgotten times,
And you may chance to hear once more
The little feet along the floor.
- By Robert Louis Stevenson
Women know
The way to rear up children (to be just),
They know a simple, merry, tender knackOf tying sashes, fitting baby shoes,
And stringing pretty words that make no sense,
And kissing full sense into empty words.
- By Elizabeth Barrett Browning
No painter's brush, nor poet's pen,
In justice to her fame,
Has ever reached half high enough,
To write a mother's name.
Life is the fruit she longs to hand you,
Ripe on a plate.
And while you live,
Relentlessly she understands you.
- By Phyllis McGinley
Hundreds of dewdrops to greet the dawn,
Hundreds of bees in the purple clover,
Hundreds of butterflies on the lawn,
But only one mother the wide world over.
- By George Cooper
Who fed me from her gentle breast,
And hushed me in her arms to rest,
And on my cheek sweet kisses prest?
My Mother.
- By Anne Taylor (excerpt from "My Mother")