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…..