By the Bushel

Two weeks and a day since mom passed away.
Tomorrow will be yet another.
Tears run down my cheeks each time someone speaks
and mentions my dear ol' mother.

For many long years she shed many tears
for the lost and the lame and the weak.
And sitting aside I would see them in stride,
zig-zag down her long wrinkled cheek.

I can't change the facts and cannot relax
understanding that life must go on.
As long as I'm living, I must be forgiving
and add to what mom built upon.

Before laid to rest, my mom did her best.
She loved God with all of her heart.
And right now she's givin' her love there in Heaven.
What time should the rest of us start?

To save someone's soul was her greatest goal.
The joy on her face would abound.
She wasn't contented until friends repented
and peace everlasting was found.

My mom was so special. She filled by the bushel,
such love; her incessant desire.
Though it overflowed, her love never slowed
as she piled it higher and higher.

This poem won second place for the March 2014 poetry contest