My father had a scrapbook that he kept all kinds of cards and letters in from when he was younger. Now and then, he would take it out and read aloud some of the poems that were pasted on the yellow pages.
One particular verse that was a favorite of his, was one called “Somebody’s Mother” and each time he read it, he would get all choked up and his eyes would fill with tears.
He loved his little Scottish mother. She became blind when he was a younger man and did need help quite often. This poem always reminded him of her, and made him cry.
Her name was Agnes Porter Johnston Kirby.
She passed away before I was born, but the stories he used to tell about her made us grateful for her strong heart and brave example of a faithful wife and mother. It helped us love her too.