A Simple, Secular, Holiday Verse To A Splendid Mother

I could pen amusing little rhymes
Or maudlin stanzas that ooze sentiment
Like bloated, half-thawed maple trees
Waiting patiently for the poetic woodsman
With his hammer, spigot and tin pail.

Or I could blubber, teary-eyed
About the countless nights you sat by my bed
And assured me most whole-heartedly
That there was absolutely nothing sinister
Lurking underneath it.

I might even mention how you held me in you arms-
Thick, brown mud smeared over us both
After a certain mischievous sibling
Was possessed by some diabolical urge
To shove his little brother face-down into a mud puddle.

But I will not compromise literary integrity
For the sake of silly sentimentality
I will not embarrass us both
(And all those who may read this)
By an egregious discharge of emotion.

Let me simply express my love and gratitude
In a dignified sort of way
And more deeply than some nameless holiday-verse hack
Who has never even met you
Could ever do.