Mother's Day for my Grandma

Misty the morning as whispers abound
Cool to the feet is the dew on the ground.
Mother's Day plotters have waited all week--
Now to the violets down by the creek.
Joy pick the yellow ones. I"ll pick the blue.
Gathering violets, Mommy, for you.

Janet's in charge and she's toasting the bread,
Giving the orders for breakfast in bed.
She gets the vase and then Don gets the tray.
Sacred traditions each year on this day.
Joy pick the yellow ones. I'll pick the blue.
Gathering violets, Mommy , for you.

Year after year, and wherever I roam,
Mother's Day morning I wake up at home.
Dew's on the grass and I know I will find
Mother's Day violets fresh in my mind.
Joy pick the yellow ones. I'll pick the blue.
Gathering violets, Mommy, for you.

Misty the memories, isn't it strange?
We have all scattered but this cannot change:
Mother's Day morning, remembering when,
Mother's Day plotters together again.
Joy pick the yellow ones. I'll pick the blue.
Gathering violets, Mommy, for you.