Southern Sampler

When I was a little girl, poetry was one of my very favorite things to read, along with the Childhood of Famous Americans series, stories about Apache Indians, and Nancy Drew mystery novels. Reading those books gave me a good grounding in American history and helped to prepare me for higher grades than fourth.

Memorizing poems was a must, and I spent many happy hours learning the poems and reciting them to my two little brothers, who didn’t give a fig for poetry. They were younger, so they listened if they wanted me to ride stick horses around the place with them when the poetry session ended. “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner,” “Casey at the Bat,” “The Cremation of Sam McGee,” and “The Blue and The Gray” were all favorites. Later on, I added “The History of the USA” or something like that wherein I memorized dates that went with the events. Then, there was one about the presidents that started with George Washington and went all the way to Woodrow Wilson, just a bit out of date. Believe me when I say, I never had problems in history in grammar school, high school, or college. The characters of history had been my friends since fourth grade; school history was just a review for me.

One year for Mother’s Day, I decided to memorize a poem for Mama, the poem “Only One Mother the Wide World Over.” This particular day, I was sitting in a rocking chair on the front porch away from little brothers, who were playing in the dirt with their tractors. The memorization was going well, and I was just about done with the poem so that I could recite it to Mama. The porch was about five feet off the ground, which was fine when we were playing Tarzan or jumping on Wild West outlaws or Yankees running by us when the porch was the fort. This day, there were no dangerous villains about, just a little girl rocking and memorizing a poem. When I got to the last few lines, there was a great crash; for I had rocked right off the porch to five feet below. Alma and the chair were lying on our sides, and I believe that I was bit stunned.

After checking my bones to make sure they were intact and then making sure that the rocking chair hadn’t been broken, I quietly carried it back up the steps to the porch. No one had seen me fall or heard the cry of surprise when I hit the ground. I figured there was no need to tell on myself, so the memorization continued until I had the poem just right. Actually, I still remember the little poem:

Hundreds of stars in the pretty sky, Hundreds of shells on the shore together. Hundreds of birds that go singing by, Hundreds of lambs in sunny weather.

Hundreds of dewdrops to greet the dawn, Hundreds of bees in purple clover. Hundreds of butterflies on the lawn, But only one mother the wide world over.

I don’t remember the author of the poem or when it was written, but it seemed to be just right for my mama. It was delivered to her on Mother’s Day in a year long gone by. She was pleased to hear it, so my work and tumble off the porch had not been in vain.

Personally, I still think it is a good little poem for all the mamas of the world who love their children and sacrifice for them daily. So, here in the year 2021, some 60-plus years later, I will send this poem as a Happy Mother’s Day wish to all the mamas in Bluffs & Bayous country. I hope your day is blessed.