By JH Sayyar
O gentle soul who bore me into dim light,
Whose hands shap my days with tender care
Thy love, a beacon through the darkest night,
Shines ever bright in skies both foul and fair
Thy voice, the hush that calms my deepest fears,
Thy smile, the dawn that breaks sorrow’s shade,
In every prayer thou offers with warm tears,
A silent fortress for my poor soul is made.
The world may shift; time may steal its due,
Yet in thy gaze I do find eternal spring,
A bond unbent by all that we pass through,
A grace neither crown, nor riches could bring.
O dear mother mine, thy love is life’s pure art
The first and final beat within my poor heart
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