Anna

They talk about love, mother, and I do too Because I have felt your gracious touch since I drew in my first breath. It’s been thirty years, mother, and the tenderness has not waned for a second.

They talk about love, mother, and I do too Because I know the way you look at me, because the spark in those emerald eyes has lit my path for so long, I would not know my way if it wasn’t for your light, mother.

When I talk about love, mother, I remember the way you smile, your calmness, the questions drawn on your face; you seek to understand me, to know the way I see the world, to say over and over you’re blessed with me, but you don’t know, mother, I’ve seen the world through your eyes first and foremost, and when I talk about love I say your name, mother.

You may not know this but you have set the bar too high, and in those thirty years of your love, I’ve tried to reach you, mother, and if I cannot get close, if I cannot be worthy of the values you’ve breathed into me, well then, my dearest mother, I should be nothing at all.