A mother's love 

whether throughout times of sorrow, 

or times of glory, is all but shallow. 

 

A mother's love is a thunderstorm, 

rumbling through a once peaceful sleep, 

finding my awakened soul as company. 

On the back porch, we seek credence,

as we share stories, and simple silence. 

 

A mother's love is a musical tune, 

carried from good intentions, 

deep in the lungs. 

Becoming bellowing blues  

from a harmonica. 

 

A mother's love is rolling mountains,

as endless as eyes can see,

resonating with nature's peace. 

Where she finds sacred hollows, 

and perspective on her woes. 

 

A mother's love is a blissful brew,

aromatic, donning a frothy cover, 

incredibly complex underneath. 

It is multifaced flavor, 

sweet, bitter, delicate, of earth. 

 

A mother's love is in the now. 

It is there when the water is muddy;

it is there when the mud has settled, 

and the water is clear.

It has nothing but patience. 

 

A mother's love 

whether throughout times of sorrow

or times of glory, is all but shallow.