Francis Ledwidge paints his mother as a figure shaped by April, ocean mist, birdsong, and wandering grief. She belongs first to the shoreline, where she sings as ships pass, until an earthly lover finds her and quietens that music with a kiss. Even after she moves inland to the hills, she carries a deep, familiar mourning; no loss seems foreign to her. The speaker’s tone is tender and reverent, almost mythic, as if his mother were formed from nature itself and marked by its sadness. Yet there is also gratitude and humility. Seeing her kindness toward everyone whose hopes have vanished, he blesses God for giving such a mother to him, a restless, bird-hearted singer. The mood is wistful and gentle, full of love for a woman who seems always in tune with beautiful, passing, grieving things.
My Mother — Summary
God made my mother on an April day, From sorrow and the mist along the sea, Lost birds' and wanderers' songs and ocean spray And the moon loved her wandering jealously.
Beside the ocean's din she combed her hair, Singing the nocturne of the passing ships, Before her earthly lover found her there And kissed away the music from her lips.
She came unto the hills and saw the change That brings the swallow and the geese in turns. But there was not a grief she deeméd strange, For there is that in her which always mourns.
Kind heart she has for all on hill or wave Whose hopes grew wings like ants to fly away. I bless the God Who such a mother gave This poor bird-hearted singer of a day.