Mother

Mother

 

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.

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