My Mother A Woman

Though this was not my first discovery, As a tribute to maternity I dedicate this poem.  

I’m third, among flowered,

most among she suffered.

Whole pain, she bared

until nine full moon gazed.

Died alive and delivered;

saw my face, she smiled

and all her fears faded.

Fed me from her blood.

A kid’s best food.

And much more she cared,

a lot than she actually could.

Awaken woman worried;

all nights, when I cried.

She sung and swayed

cradle, until nap I had.

Taught and also teased,

with everything she had

and she knew, she believed.

First steps I paddled;

with her fingers tightened

around, when I shuffled

walk and run when frightened.

When I came drenched.

from the rain rinsed

came to me and wrapped

her scarf and it soaked

by the drops drained.

Instances still remained

and decades to be framed

of love to be remembered.

She isn’t to be titled

as angel and blamed.

She is woman; not maid.

A human since made.

First and best love aid,

for every kid played

and every men weighed.

Courtesy of love lined,

here to my mother prayed;

to make me cherish good

and boy with nice childhood.

“OF COURSE, HEAVEN IS LAID

ON FEET HER FOOT STAYED.”