Mother's Day morning here in the mountain camp, and it is blueberry pancakes on the campfire griddle!
Mugs of coffee, tea and cocoa to go around, and, well, how about

MAY MORNING DEW

How pleasant in winter to sit by the hob
Listening to the sounds and the bark of a dog
Or in summer to wander the wide valleys through
And to pick the wild flowers in the May morning dew.

Summer is coming, Oh, Summer is near
With the leaves on the trees and the sky blue and clear
And the small birds are singing their fond notes so true
And the wild flowers are springing in the May morning dew.

The house I was born in is but a stone on a stone
And all round the garden the weeds they have grown
And all the fine neighbours that ever I knew
Like the red rose have perished in the May morning dew.

God be with the old folk, they are all dead and gone
And likewise my brothers, young Denis and John
As we tripped through the heather, wild hares to pursue
Our joys they did mingle in the May morning dew.