Mom daubed flower bouquets on metal trays before she pushed out me,
Then, in order, she birthed Steve, Jo-Jo, Fred, Marg, and Carl at age forty.
She swapped her oils, yellow daffodils, and pink carnations for crazy us,
And when we all left her care, she again took up the brush.
All her kids had kids and the kids had children too.
They journeyed east and west, north and south, leaving Mom to do what she best knew.
She colored hundreds of bouquets and corsages out of love;
Forever her gifts now grace each home, while she paints for all, high above.