The old woman was kind, her body worn with age,
Her eyes were closed, her heart deeply cracked.
Before me, silence stretched in the twilight hour,
Her bed was a cradle of pain—I saw that life had left her.
I watched you with love, but fate was unkind,
As time pulled you farther away from your nest.
Your words were warm and full of grace,
Yet sorrow echoed in your voice, my delicate one.
I saw you drape your body in the colors of a barren desert,
Yet you offered your gaze freely to the rain.
I saw her frail hands trembling,
And for the first time, you saw me—and wept.
Your cheeks were wet, your breath caught in a silent sob,
The seconds whispered their grief, how sorrowful it was.
The seasons passed, tracing your weary footsteps,
And I called you Mother, in that ancient, timeworn house.