In the cradle of night, where whispers lie,
A mother’s shadow lurks beneath the sky.
Her touch, once warm, now bitter and cold,
A tale of love that sorrow unfolds.

She weaves a web of words so sharp,
Cutting through dreams with a silent harp.
The echoes of promises, long faded away,
Leaving behind a child led astray.

Her eyes, like storms, brew chaos and fear,
Drowning the laughter, drawing near.
In the depths of her gaze, a child forlorn,
Yearning for dawn, yet trapped in scorn.

Yet hope whispers in the darkest night,
A flicker of warmth, a guiding light.
For every shadow, a dawn must rise,
To mend the heart and dry the eyes.