Showing posts with label Mother. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mother. Show all posts
Sunday, May 12, 2013
Mother’s Day Tradition
According to tradition, Mother's Day is celebrated every year on the second sunday in May.
The setting aside of a day each year to honor mothers was the
suggestion of Anna M. Jarvis of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania,
whose own mother had died on May 9, 1906. She held a
memorial service and asked those attending to wear white
carnations—a gesture that soon became a tradition.
By 1914 President Woodrow Wilson had proclaimed a national day
in honor of mothers, and some people still wear carnations
on the second Sunday in May—pink or red for mothers who
are living and white for those who have died.
Sometimes Mother’s Day is confused with Mothering Sunday,
an English holiday that falls on the fourth Sunday in
Lent. But Mother’s Day is now observed in England as well,
and the traditions associated with Mothering Sunday have
been largely forgotten.A number of Protestant churches have
designated this day as the Festival of the Christian Home.
Thursday, May 9, 2013
I Miss You Mother - O Mother Poem by Grigore Vieru
I miss you, mother,
Beneath the stars, the rivers flow
Together with my eye drop.
I miss your gaze,
I miss you, mother.
My little mother: a garden
Full of flowers, nuts and apples,
The light of my eyes,
The skies of my mouth!
You little mother: an eternity,
An immortal book
About longing and kindness
And a song without death!
A hungry wind grabs the tree
And blow the leaves away.
I miss your arms,
I miss you, mother.
Again and again, the lion of winter yawns,
With blizzards in his mane.
I miss your warm talking,
I miss you, mother.
A star touches my face
Or, maybe, is your scarf.
My hair is white, and I am old almost.
Learn about Grigore Vieru in Wikipedia
Beneath the stars, the rivers flow
Together with my eye drop.
I miss your gaze,
I miss you, mother.
My little mother: a garden
Full of flowers, nuts and apples,
The light of my eyes,
The skies of my mouth!
You little mother: an eternity,
An immortal book
About longing and kindness
And a song without death!
A hungry wind grabs the tree
And blow the leaves away.
I miss your arms,
I miss you, mother.
Again and again, the lion of winter yawns,
With blizzards in his mane.
I miss your warm talking,
I miss you, mother.
A star touches my face
Or, maybe, is your scarf.
My hair is white, and I am old almost.
Learn about Grigore Vieru in Wikipedia
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