She Who Holds the Heart of Home
She rises not with trumpet’s call,
But gentle hands that tend us all—
A morning song, a knowing glance,
The quiet grace of circumstance.
She bears no crown, yet rules with ease,
With wisdom woven into peace.
The hearth she builds is made of soul,
And every touch, a sacred role.
When storms have come to test our way,
She stood—unshaken, come what may.
The children saw in her their shield,
Their garden, shelter, light, and field.
She knew their tears before they fell,
And every tale they’d try to tell.
With patience forged in sacred flame,
She met each fear and called it name.
I watched her hands grow full with time—
With laundry, dreams, and lullaby rhyme.
Yet still she found the space to see
The broken parts that lived in me.
No book could hold the truths she taught,
No coin could buy the love she brought.
She gave, not once—but every day,
In countless, quiet, motherly way.
To call her wife is gift enough,
But more—she is my heart’s deep trust.
The mother of our legacy,
The keeper of our family tree.
So here I stand, this humble man,
Still learning her, as best I can.
And thank the Lord and time above,
For her great work, her endless love.
Author: Floyd Neal
Date: May 2, 2025
Dedicated: For My Beloved Wife on Mother's Day!!
Inspiration: Mother’s Day
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