Salud a Madre

My bolster and my buckler
My boaster and my friend,
My touter and My suckler
Who my green twig did bend.

My shrine of prayer and certitude,
My rock of certain peace
Corner of all I've built on
Who sacrificed heart's ease.

My well spring of salvation,
My day-star shining bright,
Polaris when my ship is lost
Or Pitching in the night,

Lighthouse upon the rock-ribbed shore
Whose Prayers beam forth my path,
Bright fountain flowing evermore
With Love that drowns all wrath,

My Greatcoat when the tempests roar,
My fire on bitter days,
True balm for body sick and sore
True cure for all malaise,

I love you, though I've seldom told
How greatly this is true,
But now I must the truth unfold,
I owe it all to you.

Think not that I'm addressing here
The Savior or our God,
Just a simple, human person
Nurtured by the humble sod,

Just- a little, German lady
Bent of back but straight of mind
Not so rich and far from lovely
To the world's conforming mind

But of Inner Gold, the Spirit
The Lost Dutchman Mine is she;
Twas my fortune to enherit
Gold no earth-turned eye can see.

Hidden still from greedy gazer,
Lost to every surface eye,
But. brighter, she, than any Laser
Beam or star that lights the sky,

Finer, milder, purer, sweeter
Like rick wine,she turns with age
And the latter years now treat her
With such Grace from mortal rare

That each day her eye seems Brighter
Than it did in years gone by,
And the simplest good delights her
Bringing new Beams to her eyes.

Just a little German mother,
Growing Lovlier with time,
And not Christ's nor any other
Has more quality than mine.

So before you make your homing
To our mansion in the sky
Where, in Spring you'11 young go roaming
To the meadow lark's sweet cry

Take this thanks from one who loves you,
Thanks for all your Spirits Gold
Sure the Lord, who dwells within you
Joys to hear your story told.

In loving memory of Anne Pinkney