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.