In the quiet hours before dawn’s light,
A mother dreams of endless days and nights,
Her heart a tapestry of hopes and fears,
Weaving love through time’s gentle years.

Hands that cradle, guide, and mend,
Through every storm, her spirit bends,
Yet never breaks, a steadfast tree,
Rooted in love, eternally free.

Her laughter echoes in whispered halls,
A melody that sweetly calls,
Children to her warm embrace,
In her presence, they find their place.

Through weary eyes, her light still glows,
A beacon through life’s ebbs and flows,
For being a mother is more than a role,
It’s the very essence of her soul.