In the quiet hours of dawn, she rises,
Her gentle touch, a soothing balm,
Through every storm, her love disguises,
A lighthouse guiding, ever calm.
Her eyes, a well of endless care,
Reflect the dreams she once held tight,
Now given to the ones she bears,
A beacon in the darkest night.
Her hands, though worn with time’s embrace,
Craft stories in the meals she makes,
In every stitch, a warm embrace,
A tapestry of love she takes.
Oh, mother, with your silent strength,
You teach us how to brave the waves,
In your heart, we find our length,
A love that guides, a love that saves.