In fields of emerald, memories unfurl,
Her hands, worn yet tender, teach and twirl,
Through tales of old, in whispers low,
A mother’s love, a constant glow.

In the kitchen’s warmth, where shadows play,
She kneads the dough, while dreams sway,
Her voice a melody, soft and sweet,
Guiding steps, where heartbeats meet.

The garden blooms with colors bright,
Tended by her, with gentle might,
Each petal kissed by morning’s dew,
Reflects her essence, pure and true.

Though time may pass and days may blend,
Her spirit stays, a timeless friend,
In every word and every line,
A mother’s love, forever divine.