Mom

By my side, my mother stands with pride,

Sealed in the slumber of old age's glide.

Her love, a glad return each night,

A beacon on my path, a mighty light.

Through my hair, she weaves her care,

Braiding blossoms in the shaded air.

Day and night, she cooks with grace,

Drawing fragrance from a heart of white lace.

Hard she toils for comfort's embrace,

As gems drink dew, her efforts trace.

Brightness or shadows, she perseveres,

A mother's strength, banishing fears.

Her hand, once young, in beauty sways,

Seeking dim radiance in my day's embrace.