You bear them yet, this progeny,
These little ones you bore.
And, oh, how changed your mothering
Since you were twenty-four.
You once were carried on the wings
Of hope and expectations,
And now you carry in your soul
The weight of generations.
But you have learned whose back can bear
The heaviness of years,
And I have seen you load his back,
And soak his robes with tears.
No mother ever touched his robe
And met disdain or jest;
And heavy generations yet
Will rise and call you bless’d.