Mother bends lower to your head ever higher;
prompts softer to your speak ever louder.
Mother praises should you miss a success,
and commends honour in the process;
Mother consents to be left behind,
too wise to challenge a ready mind;
Reports all glee should you called,
lest rueful your spirit held;
Mother is there for your homely feast,
her cooking is best to nostalgic taste;
Mother desires her ailment to linger,
for rare reunion to last longer;
Mother wilts to your oblivious face,
decades gone by now you see her grace;
Mother expands your world at the pivot,
None but her pride guided you pursuit.