(For Mom, who took the time to raise me.)
I remember Mother would, when we were tired of play
Pull down the tin box, its contents captive in disarray.
She would pour them out on the table, ask us to sort
We were glad for the challenge, didn’t argue or retort.
We spent time putting together in size, color and shape
Buttons snipped from old clothes for some future date.
Remembered the buttons, remembered each of their roles
They had distinct personalities, with one or more holes.
As we completed our task, Mom would beam with pride
She’d carefully scoop them all up and return them inside.
An exercise in perseverance, not just colors and shape.
The simple tasks of those days, helped form adult state.