Poem -
The Provider
From high offices or gardens
to steel factories or fields,
from the duties of a father
to the nest making of a mother,
the provider works from dawn to dusk
relentlessly doing what he or she must.
Weary limbs, callous hands
resting on a bed of asphalt
with harsh pillows
of tired minds on stressed ends.
But when a loaf of bread comes to mind,
all it takes is a moment
to swell the heart with pride.
--Bernadete vdw, ‘25
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Comments
Such a tender write B. Family is everything and it's a special pride to know
the needs of your loved ones are met, unscathed, for another day. There is a feeling of quiet contentment and gente pride in this write
Hugs x
Well spoken, Marion. I really like what you’re saying. A big hug
to you lovely lady. B
My mother provided for her small family always. True words of Wisdom.
We’re either providers or have been provided for. This is more an Ode to the hard workers from all walks of life. Thank you Jac for your good words. Stay strong.
B
Thank you Bernie. Always happy to hear from such a reflective being. Stay well my Poet friend. B
''Not to be occupied and not to exist are one and the same thing
for a man. '' --Voltaire
Finding a purpose in life? Thank you for sharing your thoughts, Nine Eleven.
Very much appreciated, B
WOW,
Would it best to be an apothecary ?
WELL DONE,
Bernadete van der Wielen,
I am indeed resound,
An apothecary? are you calling me a pharmacist, 2 much 2 love?
maybe medicine for the soul? how lovely of you saying that, and I am
indeed pretty happy about your words. B
hmmm!
Are you trying to make me cry?
Perhaps more way than are traditional to the paths of love?