I Still Hear My Mother's Voice

I Still Hear My Mother's Voice

I still hear my mother's voice, as sympathetic friend,
 comforting in times of hurt and drafting for the mend.

 I still hear my mother's voice, as moralistic heart,
 ranking all things bad or good and sorting for the chart.

 I still hear my mother's voice, as practitioner nurse,
 kissing dangerous scratches and healing for the curse.

 I still hear my mother's voice, as crusade head-honcho,
 canvassing in my favor and voting for the glow.

 I still hear my mother's voice, as vigilante guard,
 protecting precious charges and vouching for the card.

 I still hear my mother's voice, as guidance counselor,
 dispensing worldly advice and aiming for the lure.

 I still hear my mother's voice, as master pedagogue,
 teaching basic lessons and schooling for the log.

 I still hear my mother's voice, as imperious love,
 showing predominant care and cooing for the dove.

 I still hear my mother's voice, even if years have past,
 since she took me under wing and left her shadow cast.

© Wallace Dean LaBenne