My Yiddishe Momme

My Yiddishe Momme, I miss her more than ever now.
My Yiddishe Momme, I’d longed to kiss that wrinkled brow.
I long to hold her hand once more as I did in the days gone by,
And beg her to forgive me for things I did that made her cry.
How few were her pleasures, she never cared for fashion’s styles
Her jewels and her treasures, she found them in her beby’s smiles
And, I know that I owe everything that I am today
To that wonderful lady so old and gray;
To that wonderful Yiddishe Momme of mine.