After reading a convo on our chat group this made me write another piece.
When I was a child, my mother would say,
“Never waste your food; it might not come your way.”
Her voice, a soft echo, a lesson profound,
In the heart of our home, where love could be found.
“Each bite is a treasure,” she’d gently implore,
“Think of those hungry, who long for much more.”
Her words lingered softly, like shadows at dusk,
A blend of concern and a mother’s deep trust.
Now as I ponder, with a plate full of fare,
I wonder if her warning was born from despair.
Was it a threat wrapped in wisdom so tight,
Or a reminder of struggles that danced out of sight?
Though now we have plenty, her words still resound,
A haunting reminder of the lessons I’ve found.
In a world full of choices, I still hear her voice,
Teaching me gratitude, urging me to rejoice.
For every meal shared, for each morsel I take,
I honor her wisdom, the path that she’d make.
So I savor each bite, with a heart full of grace,
Remembering her lessons, her love in this space.