In a few days will be Mother's Day and we will present a series of famous poems and phrases that you can dedicate to your mother on the day of their party. A bit 'all the greatest poets have ventured in the task of expressing their feelings to their mothers, if you also want it but can not find the words used by those who have gone before and knows how to excite! These phrases can print the notes for, or copy them by hand, which I think is even better.
Poetry by Judith BondGrazie mom because I have given the tenderness of your caress, a kiss goodnight, your caring smile, your sweet hand that gives me security. You wiped my tears in secret, you have encouraged my steps, you correct my mistakes, you protected my way, you have raised my spirit, with wisdom and love you brought me to life.
And while he watched with care over time for me to find the thousands of housework. You never thought to ask thanks. Thanks mom. Poetry for the mother - Dante Alighieri Virgin mother, daughter of thy Son, Humble and high beyond all other creature, The limit fixed of the eternal counsel, Thou ', whom the nobility To human nature is' that' its Creator Did not disdain to himself its creature.
Within thy womb rekindled love, By heat in the eternal peace so this flower has germinated. Here, if 'we noonday torch of charity, and below there among mortals' fount of hope. Donna, if 'so big and so powerful, that whoever desires grace and his desire not recourse to thee would fly without wings.
Plea to my mother - Pier Paolo Pasolini and 'difficult to say in a child in what they look like little hearts. You are alone in the world who knows my heart, what has always been, first of all other love. So, I must say this is terrible to know: is in your grace that my anguish grew. You are irreplaceable.
It is therefore condemned to solitude life you gave me. And I will not be alone. I have an endless hunger for love, the love of bodies without souls. Because the soul is in you, you, but you are my mother and your love is my slavery, I spent my childhood slave to this lofty incurable sense of immense commitment.
It was the only way to feel life, the only color, the only way now is over. We survive, in the confusion of a life reborn beyond reason. I beg you, ah, I beg you: do not want to die. I'm here alone with you in the future in April ... My Mother - Edmondo De Amicis Time does not always remove the beauty or sfioran tears and my mother worries sixty years and more I look at it the more I seem nice .
It does not have an accent, a glance, a smile that I softly touch your heart. Ah, if I were a painter, I would do all his life for his portrait. I would like to retract when the bows because I kiss your face white and her braid when sick and tired, hiding her grief in a smile. Ah, if it were an accepted my prayer to heaven do not ask the great painter of Urbino to the crown of glory divine brush her beautiful face.
I wish I could change his life with life, give her all the vigor of my age, I would like to see me old and her younger ... My sacrifice! The Mother - Giuseppe Ungaretti And the last beat of a heart when it has done down the wall of shadow to take me, Mother, until the Lord, as once you give me your hand.
In the knee, determined, will be a statue in front of the eternal, as you saw when you were still alive. Get up trembling old hands, like when spirasti saying: My God, here I am. And only when they possess me forgiven, you will want to look at. Memories of me waited so long, and you in the eye a quick sigh.
Poem to a son - William Shakespeare ... You are your mother's mirror, and she lives in you the sweet flower of his years of April ... My mother - Giovanni Pascoli '... Don ... Don and I say Go to sleep! I sing Sleep! Whisper Go to sleep! They whisper Go to sleep! There, items appear dark blue ...
I cradle songs that make me go back ... I felt it was my mother ... then nothing in the evening 'letter to his mother - Salvatore Quasimodo' Mater sweet, now the mists descend, the ship strikes confused its banks, the trees swell with water, burning with snow in the North are not sad: I am not at peace with myself, but do not expect forgiveness from anyone, I have many tears from person to person.
I know that are not well, you live like all the poets' mothers, poor and just to the extent of love for their children away. Today I am who I write: 'At last, say, two words of the boy who ran away at night with a short coat and a few lines in his pocket. Poor, so ready for the heart will kill him one day somewhere .- 'Yes, I remember, was from that gray port of slow trains carrying almonds and oranges, dell'Imera the mouth, the river full of magpies, salt, d 'eucalyptus.
But now I thank you, I want this, ell'ironia you put on my lip, mild as yours. That smile has saved me from tears and pain. And now I do not care if a few tears for you, for all those like you expect, and do not know what. Ah, gentle death, do not touch the clock in the kitchen takes over the wall my whole childhood was spent on the enamel of her face, painted on the flowers do not touch the hands, the heart of the old.
But maybe someone responds? O death of love, death of shame. Goodbye, dear, good-bye, my sweet Mater '. Here are excerpts from books or songs that you can dedicate to your moms 
Poetry by Judith BondGrazie mom because I have given the tenderness of your caress, a kiss goodnight, your caring smile, your sweet hand that gives me security. You wiped my tears in secret, you have encouraged my steps, you correct my mistakes, you protected my way, you have raised my spirit, with wisdom and love you brought me to life.
And while he watched with care over time for me to find the thousands of housework. You never thought to ask thanks. Thanks mom. Poetry for the mother - Dante Alighieri Virgin mother, daughter of thy Son, Humble and high beyond all other creature, The limit fixed of the eternal counsel, Thou ', whom the nobility To human nature is' that' its Creator Did not disdain to himself its creature.
Within thy womb rekindled love, By heat in the eternal peace so this flower has germinated. Here, if 'we noonday torch of charity, and below there among mortals' fount of hope. Donna, if 'so big and so powerful, that whoever desires grace and his desire not recourse to thee would fly without wings.
Plea to my mother - Pier Paolo Pasolini and 'difficult to say in a child in what they look like little hearts. You are alone in the world who knows my heart, what has always been, first of all other love. So, I must say this is terrible to know: is in your grace that my anguish grew. You are irreplaceable.
It is therefore condemned to solitude life you gave me. And I will not be alone. I have an endless hunger for love, the love of bodies without souls. Because the soul is in you, you, but you are my mother and your love is my slavery, I spent my childhood slave to this lofty incurable sense of immense commitment.
It was the only way to feel life, the only color, the only way now is over. We survive, in the confusion of a life reborn beyond reason. I beg you, ah, I beg you: do not want to die. I'm here alone with you in the future in April ... My Mother - Edmondo De Amicis Time does not always remove the beauty or sfioran tears and my mother worries sixty years and more I look at it the more I seem nice .
It does not have an accent, a glance, a smile that I softly touch your heart. Ah, if I were a painter, I would do all his life for his portrait. I would like to retract when the bows because I kiss your face white and her braid when sick and tired, hiding her grief in a smile. Ah, if it were an accepted my prayer to heaven do not ask the great painter of Urbino to the crown of glory divine brush her beautiful face.
I wish I could change his life with life, give her all the vigor of my age, I would like to see me old and her younger ... My sacrifice! The Mother - Giuseppe Ungaretti And the last beat of a heart when it has done down the wall of shadow to take me, Mother, until the Lord, as once you give me your hand.
In the knee, determined, will be a statue in front of the eternal, as you saw when you were still alive. Get up trembling old hands, like when spirasti saying: My God, here I am. And only when they possess me forgiven, you will want to look at. Memories of me waited so long, and you in the eye a quick sigh.
Poem to a son - William Shakespeare ... You are your mother's mirror, and she lives in you the sweet flower of his years of April ... My mother - Giovanni Pascoli '... Don ... Don and I say Go to sleep! I sing Sleep! Whisper Go to sleep! They whisper Go to sleep! There, items appear dark blue ...
I cradle songs that make me go back ... I felt it was my mother ... then nothing in the evening 'letter to his mother - Salvatore Quasimodo' Mater sweet, now the mists descend, the ship strikes confused its banks, the trees swell with water, burning with snow in the North are not sad: I am not at peace with myself, but do not expect forgiveness from anyone, I have many tears from person to person.
I know that are not well, you live like all the poets' mothers, poor and just to the extent of love for their children away. Today I am who I write: 'At last, say, two words of the boy who ran away at night with a short coat and a few lines in his pocket. Poor, so ready for the heart will kill him one day somewhere .- 'Yes, I remember, was from that gray port of slow trains carrying almonds and oranges, dell'Imera the mouth, the river full of magpies, salt, d 'eucalyptus.
But now I thank you, I want this, ell'ironia you put on my lip, mild as yours. That smile has saved me from tears and pain. And now I do not care if a few tears for you, for all those like you expect, and do not know what. Ah, gentle death, do not touch the clock in the kitchen takes over the wall my whole childhood was spent on the enamel of her face, painted on the flowers do not touch the hands, the heart of the old.
But maybe someone responds? O death of love, death of shame. Goodbye, dear, good-bye, my sweet Mater '. Here are excerpts from books or songs that you can dedicate to your moms
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