who uprooted the poet's mother?
Answers
Answer:
The pale and faded face of the poet's mother looks lifeless like a corpse. Her dozing with mouth wide open suggests passivity, decay and death. Outside the car, the poet watches young trees speeding past them. They seem to be running fast or sprinting
"A Mother's Love," Helen Steiner Rice
"A Mother's Love," Helen Steiner RiceA Mother’s love is something
that no one can explain,
It is made of deep devotion
and of sacrifice and pain,
It is endless and unselfish
and enduring come what may,
For nothing can destroy it
or take that love away,
It is patient and forgiving
when all others are forsaking,
And it never fails or falters
even though the heart is breaking,
It believes beyond believing
when the world around condemns
,And it glows with all the beauty
of the rarest, brightest gems,
It is far beyond defining,
it defies all explanation,
And it still remains a secret
like the mysteries of creation,
A many splendored miracle
man cannot understand
And another wondrous evidence
of God’s tender guiding hand.
"Mother," Lola Ridge
"Mother," Lola RidgeYour love was like moonlight
turning harsh things to beauty,
so that little wry souls
reflecting each other obliquely
as in cracked mirrors ...beheld in your luminous spirit
their own reflection,
transfigured as in a shining stream,
and loved you for what they are not.
You are less an image in my mind
than a luster
I see you in gleams
pale as star-light on a gray wall ...
evanescent as the reflection of a white swan
shimmering in broken water.
"To My Mother," Edgar Allan Poe
"To My Mother," Edgar Allan PoeBecause I feel that, in the Heavens above,
The angels, whispering to one another,
Can find, among their burning terms of love,
None so devotional as that of “Mother,”
Therefore by that dear name I long have called you —
You who are more than mother unto me,
And fill my heart of hearts, where Death installed you
In setting my Virginia's spirit free.
My mother — my own mother, who died early,
Was but the mother of myself; but you
Are mother to the one I loved so dearly,
And thus are dearer than the mother I knew
By that infinity with which my wife
Was dearer to my soul than its soul-life.
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