She bent the twig toward home,
towards simple pleasures and a
firelight's glow.
She bent the twig towards truth,
And courage for the paths truth
must go,
She bent the twig towards love,
To lift the hearts of those who
only plod,
And when the tempest raged,
her tree stood firm,
For gently she had bent
the twig towards God.
I don't know who wrote this poem but I have had it for many years and can only pray that when I look back over the years of my mothering I can see that I have followed this advice.
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