In the quiet hours of twilight’s embrace,
I see her hands, worn yet full of grace.
The gentle touch that shaped my days,
In her wisdom, I find my ways.
Her voice, a melody of ancient lore,
Echoes softly, forevermore.
In fields of green, where memories lie,
Her spirit soars in the open sky.
The hearth she tended, a beacon bright,
Guiding me through the darkest night.
In each line, her stories weave,
A legacy of love, I believe.
Now as I pen these humble lines,
Her essence in my heart defines.
A motherâs love, pure and true,
In every word, I remember you.