The old woman was kind, bearing a weary body,
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 affection, yet fate was unkind to you,
As time pulled you farther away from your nest.
Your words were warm and soothing,
Yet sorrow echoed through your voice, my dear one.
I saw how you painted your body in the colors of a barren desert,
Yet you offered your gaze freely to the rain.
I saw your frail hands trembling,
And for the first time, you saw me—and wept.
Your cheeks were wet, your breath caught in a stifling sob,
The seconds whispered their grief in a sorrowful hush.
Seasons passed beneath your weary footsteps,
And I called you Mother, in that ancient, timeworn house.