First Mothers Day Poems

First Mother's Day is one of the most important days in a woman's life. It is the day when a woman realizes attainment of complete womanhood. Giving life to a new creature with one's own flesh and blood is a very touching feeling. On an occasion like Mother's Day, this feeling becomes ultra special when the entire world bows to salute her spirit and womanhood.  Though as a kid, a newly born baby is unable to express her love for her mother but that does not mean that he/she doesn't understand her importance. On one's first Mother's Day, one not only realizes the importance of being a mother herself, one is also filled with the feeling of thankfulness towards her own mother. Poets express these feelings better, Read on to realize the feelings of First mother's day.  

First mother's day
Little girls have always dreamed,
Of one day being grown;
Of having a home and family,
And children of their own
As little girls they played the games,
With dollies cuddled near;
Of being grown up Mommies,
And now that day is here.
For cuddled sweetly in her arms,
Of the little girl now grown;
Is the sweetest dream she ever dreamed,
A baby of her own
In all the years of growing up,
In the games that little girls play;
None will ever be so sweet,
As her very first Mother's Day
-By Allison Chambers Coxsey

Tribute to Mother
A picture memory brings to me;
I look across the years and see
Myself beside my mother's knee.
I feel her gentle hand restrain
My selfish moods, and know again
A child's blind sense of wrong and pain.
But wiser now,
a man gray grown,
My childhood's needs are better known.
My mother's chastening love I own.
-By John Greenleaf Whittier

My Mother
Who fed me from her gentle breast
And hushed me in her arms to rest,
And on my cheek sweet kisses prest?
My mother.
When sleep forsook my open eye,
Who was it sung sweet lullaby
And rocked me that I should not cry?
My mother.
Who sat and watched my infant head
When sleeping in my cradle bed,
And tears of sweet affection shed?
My mother.
When pain and sickness made me cry,
Who gazed upon my heavy eye
And wept, for fear that I should die?
My mother.
Who ran to help me when I fell
And would some pretty story tell,
Or kiss the part to make it well?
My mother.
Who taught my infant lips to pray,
To love God's holy word and day,
And walk in wisdom's pleasant way?
My mother.
And can I ever cease to be
Affectionate and kind to thee
Who wast so very kind to me,-
My mother
Oh no, the thought I cannot bear;
And if God please my life to spare
I hope I shall reward thy care,
My mother.
When thou art feeble, old and gray,
My healthy arm shall be thy stay,
And I will soothe thy pains away,
My mother
Ans when I see thee hang thy head,
'Twill be my turn to watch thy bed,
And tears of sweet affection shed,-
My mother.
-By Jane Taylor