In the quiet of dawn, when the world still slumbers,
Her love unfurls like petals of a delicate flower.
She weaves warmth into blankets, tenderness into meals,
Her touch, a soothing balm for life's raw ordeals.
Her eyes hold constellations, stories untold,
A universe of care, etched in wrinkles and gold.
She cradles dreams in her weathered palms,
Guiding us through storms with unwavering calm.
Her laughter, a melody that echoes through time,
Her sacrifices, silent verses in life's rhyme.
She is the sun that warms our coldest days,
The moon that whispers solace when darkness sways.
Her love knows no boundaries, no measure or end,
It's the compass that guides us, our eternal friend.
So here's to mothers, fierce and tender,
Their love, a symphony that words can't render.
About the Creator
Salwa
Start writing...
Remembering the rink
If you were there, you’ll never forget it. For decades, Durham Ice Rink was at the heart of the city’s social life. From Friday night ice discos to crowds roaring on the Wasps every Sunday, not to mention a proud history of figure skating and speed skating, the riverside rink was the place to be.
By Andy Potts4 days ago in Art
Comments (2)
Amazing poem ♥️
Nice poem, salwa.