The Sylph at Home

 Maa, what can I compose in your adoration? 

For every book and each word would fall short,

In providing a meticulous acknowledgment of your glory.

You stand unquestionably above every poesy. 

As papa departed for his heavenly abode,

I have watched you step into the shoes of the preserver,

Stand like a massive pilaster resisting every catastrophe,

Shielding us from the thunderstorms that life offered. 

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I never have endeavored to reflect upon,

The hushed agonies you meekly endure.

Besides fulfilling our ceaseless demands,

You taught us the rights and wrongs. 

I haven't seen a flawless mortal, but have identified you,

An earthling of perfection exists only in fiction, yet I have you. 

Even an Epic stands incapable of capturing your grandeur, 

Maa, you have risen above lyrics.