MOTHERS OF CABRINI 

(EXCERPT)

Back in the day mothers of Cabrini wouldn't allow you to leave the porch until you came of age,
You made fast friends with your neighbors and the slender catwalk became your stage,
Periodically she'd poke her head out of the screen to see if you were still there,
Then she'd go back to cooking, cleaning, chatting or relaxing in her easy chair.
You rode your big wheel, tricycle, skates, skateboards, or jumped rope for fun,
Your laughter was extra insurance that let her know you were safe underneath the sun...
When you fell off a ten speed bike for the first time your mother was right there
to dust you off and tell you to get back on...
Pretty soon you were turning corners and popping wheelies boy were you gone!
Mothers of Cabrini would walk you to school or would entrust you to an older sibling,
They'd reward good behavior or chastise you about your handwriting if it resembled scribbling.
They were your first teacher and taught you how to tie your shoe and say thank you.
They taught you to respect your elders, be kind to others and to stand up for yourself,
They wanted you to have more than they did and not have to put your dreams on a shelf.