In the golden fields of memory, she stands,
Her hands, weathered, yet tender, weave dreams,
Each line, a story, each scar, a song,
Echoes of her strength, in the poet’s heart.

She kneaded the dough of our daily bread,
Her touch, the balm to soothe our fears,
Her laughter, a melody in the evening air,
Love, in every gesture, in every glance.

The poet’s words, a tribute to her grace,
Her life, a canvas painted with care,
In every verse, her spirit lives on,
A timeless bond, mother and son.

Through the seasons, her lessons endure,
In the poet’s heart, her legacy blooms,
A beacon of love, unwavering, pure,
Forever cherished, in life’s quiet rooms.