My Mother, Dr. Nesty
I have once smelled the fragrance
by C.M.V.S. von Uthemann
of sweet violets, fresh milk and the loving glance
Only a true mother can bestow to a babe in her arms,
Of, if there were only a miracle to restore Nature's balance
Twas the will of God that she care
For eight children, alas, one didn't dare,
Abandoning her dental chair and a flourishing career
For the sake of a devoted husband with a passion never bare.
Ah, if only she will realize that she is needed
Here, more than words the heart has dreaded
To intimate, he little grandchildren in Spain are parched
For love, and her eldest daughter, who may soon be dead.