My mother, at forty-seven is still a beauty
She considers looking after us as her soulful duty
We can see the love in her eyes when she smiled
And kept me company till I sleep when the night storms are wild
Her whole body is filled with cute little freckles
She's still the most beautiful woman even with her growing wrinkles
People often tells me that I'm lucky I didn't take after her skin
But I feel sad, I wished I had a part of her within
I'm glad to have brown eyes with a touch of hazel
And my brunette hair which I inherited from my mother, the Angel
The long, almost-pointy nose that I adore
Is the feature which I exactly wanted, nothing more
I remember the night she hugged me tight
She whispered, " I'll call you up every night"
I miss the days she'd dress me up
Cos I'm only good at trying my hands on my eye make-up
Last we spoke, she said she's still having problems with her thyroid
I begged God, " She is still too young to be a victim of what we can't avoid "
But I believe she will live long till the last sun rise
And witness my children grow up before her eyes
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