Mother

She hath no treasures save her silver crown,
And the little gems
That betimes sparkle on her cheek.
No royal robe with ruff and corsetier;
But a scant white fold across her breast,
And a cap that lies like new-fell snow
Upon her brow. And her hands no jewels wear.
Her breast is soft, and still doth sink,
Where the heads of her loved pressed so.
Ah, she hath no crown, nor kingdom she-
My mother.