She Was There

When I suffer, she is there,

She is the tree that carries the fruits that we as people fail to bear.

Truth be told, her inner beauty is beyond compare,

and a personality that is ever so rare,

from start to finish, my mother, she is always there.

Dedicating her life to fighting and upholding,

She strives, she lives, she survives,

And she never gives into this pride thing,

For she is humble, and her light keeps on shining,

It shines so brightly, it is almost blinding.

Her presence is truly felt,

You can always feel she is there.

There will come one point,

where we will be on our knees,

praying that she sleeps in peace,

or praying for comfort as we weep,

as our great warrior sleeps.

We must admit that it was great to have had her here,

and it will hurt to say that she is gone.

But at least we can say,

that she was there.








This poem is about: 
My family


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