The strains she faced,
The pains she embraced,
The comforts she placed,
Outside her life!
The romance she ignored,
The bitterness she cored,
And the fruits she soared,
As a lovely wife!
When she fed her child,
Hell turned cold and mild,
And the fire was exiled,
As the child was content!
God wrote on the wall,
It's not over and all,
Just a glimpse of my call,
Kind enough and descent!
And reward of a mother,
A golden feather,
Nothing else and other,
A pleasant surprise!
On the Day of Judgment,
All dead or dormant,
But a mother will be ardent,
Its disclosure, premature and unwise!
Akhtar Jawad
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/mother-512/
