Poetry
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Not Exactly Retiring

My mother is a doctor
Dispensing cures with care
A proud and proper proctor
Who’s forthright, frank, and fair

My mother is a lawyer
Defending truth and right
A decorated warrior
Who’s not afraid to fight

My mom’s a politician
Whose parleys pilot peace
A maven mathematician
Who reconciles with ease

My mother is a baker
Whose leaven never fails
A hard-working homemaker
For whom her household hails

My mother is an artist
Building beauty all around
A farmer of the harvest
A grower of the ground

My mother’s a musician
Who fills the world with song
A masterful magician
Dispelling every wrong

My mother is a teacher
Whose lessons all were learned
A prayerful, pious preacher
Whose eloquence was earned

My mother is a knitter
Entwining work with wool
But though these jobs all fit her
She has a higher role

My mother is a sweetheart
A soul-mate and a wife
My mother is a mother
And has been all her life

And though she is retiring
From this job she’s done for years
It’s really just transpiring
For one of her careers