Mother To Son

Well, son, I'll tell you:
Life for me ain't been no crystal stair.
It's had tacks in it,
And splinters,
And boards torn up,
And places with no carpet on the floor—
But all the time
I'se been a-climbin' on,
And reachin' landin's,
And turnin' corners,
And sometimes goin' in the dark
Where there ain't been no light.
So, boy, don't you turn back.
Don't you set down on the steps.
'Cause you finds it's kinder hard.
Don't you fall now—
For I'se still goin', honey,
I'se still climbin',
And life for me ain't been no crystal stair.

by Langston Hughes

Comments (5)

Well Jake seems like you've hit a nerve. Amazing how simple it is to roust the rabbits from the briar patch. the rat sniffs the cheese giving into temptation SNAP...the trap is sprung
What's a jewfish Allan, is it a gray perch that fell off the perch because he couldn't hack it? Let's hope he can swim. I prefer the reef sweetlip, they have pleasant facial features. How about, on our get together, some Barramundi fillets with the coldies? I hear the poms really lust after our fish. So do the Krauts. H
Allan, you forgot to add 'Tiny battles come from tiny minds'. H
Hassler why is it when i think of you, i think of shylock and jewfish easter is nearly here, i am so pleased you are part of this site, what would i do without you, you are a constant source of amusement, your poetry is hillarious and your spelling devine, you really look after me i'm thinking of putting you in charge of my shoes, or do you you like to lick boots you like licking things dont you Anyway have a good easter Warm regards AJS
How pathetic. Is it because your poetry is a pain to produce and then proves to be not worth having gone through the effort? As to beating your swords back into pens. It seems to me that you are in posession of neither. A sword would be too big for your puny arms and a pen, well, what would you do with it. Chew on it? H