While thumbing through the old photo album 
A particular one my eyes fixed upon; 
It was of Mom in her blue Sunday dress 
And wearing a soiled yellow apron. 

I smiled as in my mind I returned, 
It seemed just like it was yesterday; 
For I had left my small hand prints on it 
From playing in the Carolina red clay. 

Mom had called us into dinner, 
I could smell Sunday chicken fried; 
So I ran in and threw my arms around her, 
As on my hands the clay she spied. 

Mom pinched my cheeks as she laughed out loud, 
Told me to wash up and quickly sit down; 
Then sister Mary Ruth took mom's picture, 
We kids snickered, not dad, he just made a frown. 

Mom would always wear an apron, 
Yellow was her favorite color; 
I loved to sneak and untie it, 
Hear her shout; "Scat, you little stinker!" 

Yes, the apron was mom's preference 
Of all the clothing that she wore; 
She donned it like a badge of honor, 
Displayed it like some fancy decor. 

She would wear it into the hen house, 
Then shape it in a rounded fold; 
There softly place fresh eggs gathered, 
Or shield baby chicks from the cold. 

I've seen her use it for a basket 
For garden tomatoes or fresh corn; 
I even recall when it cradled, 
A dozen kittens newly-born. 

She'd reach down, pull it at the bottom, 
Her dish pan hands to gently dry; 
She would fan herself in hot weather, 
Or wave it like a flag to say goodbye. 

Why, Mom's apron could hide a shy child, 
Or wipe dirt from a little boy's ear; 
And she would keep a hankie in its pocket, 
That's one memory I still hold dear. 

I have seen her pat a sweaty brow, 
After cooking over an old wood stove; 
Or use it for a potholder, as cornbread 
From the oven she would remove. 

She'd use it to carry ripe apples 
That had just fallen to the ground; 
Maybe collect crumbs from the table, 
Toss them to the birds waitin' 'round. 

Yes, Mom's apron had many uses, 
From a tote bag to shooing flies; 
But, I've also seen her use it tenderly, 
When she would wipe teary eyes. 

Now, I suppose the apron was invented, 
To protect a mom's pretty clothes; 
But they must have had Mom in mind, 
How she loved it... heaven only knows. 

And I don't reckon that too many ladies, 
Would care a whit for it in these days; 
But my mom proved its great value, 
As she used it in so many ways. 

So, when I look through my family photos, 
There's one I still gaze upon; 
It's of mom in her blue Sunday dress, 
Wearing a soiled yellow apron. 

© Loyd C Taylor