We read about the mothers
Of the days of long ago,
With their gentle, wrinkled faces
And their hair as white as snow;
They were "middle aged" at forty,
And at fifty donned lace caps,
And at sixty clung to shoulder shawls
And loved their little naps.
But I love the modern mother
Who can share in all the joys,
And who understands the problems
Of her growing girls and boys;
She may boast that she is fifty;
But her heart is twenty-three--
My glorious, bright-eyed mother
Who is keeping young with me.