Strong, independent, my wise words of thoughts

The source of all my pride and joy

The source of my pain

The wrinkles that settle beneath the eyelids of a woman hard at work

To come home to nagging children every evening

These nagging children she's brought into this world

with a man she assumes still loves her .

Their clueless eyes, innocent faces and brains yet so young

are her only hopes she has for life.

At night before her eldest goes to bed, she sometimes cries tears of pain,

Not for how weak she believes her source of wise thoughts has become

but for how strong she's watched her inspiration grow

The woman with these wrinkles, the woman with such pain

The woman with a broken heart

The woman with oceans of tears she must detain just to keep smiles on her children's face

This woman I call Mum.