Where a bundle of
work awaits,
Cooks, washes,
neatly cleans,
Cares, loves,
highly concerns,
Always works
without any rest,
And consoles
everyone with much zest.
Settle disputes
often arise,
Among kids with
enough patience,
Waits everyone ends
his dine,
Have the food
calmly alone,
Much pain silently
adorns,
To make both ends
meet, not mourns.
Arranges the cloths,
different things,
Thrown away by
wards which hangs,
Bakes spongy cakes
and soft buns,
Makes them tasty
with jolly funs.
Dress worn out
soundly stitches,
Irons, darns, and readily
patches,
Waters the garden myrtles,
the plants,
The branches trims
well and cuts,
Tired and frail in
all twilight,
Yet continues till
midnight.
Isn't she an ardent
labourer?
The mother, the
patient homemaker?
Just a pat gentle
and soft,
Filled with love
and care a lot,
The precious gift
ever she needs,
The only tribute
for her deeds…..
