They tell me she used to be pretty-
but those days are long gone by now.
They say that it’s such a pity,
all her life she’s had to toil and plough.
She’s had to forgo her wishes,
there was nothing she could call her own;
spare a family that could boast of no riches
‘part from the hardships aplenty she had known.
I look at her now, through the edge of my eyes
washing the dishes away.
She begins her day before the sun would rise;
not until after midnight on her bed would she lay.
Does she regret the choices of her life?
To do that would just be human.
But she has loved us all through the strife.
Hence to me she’s still –A beautiful woman-.
P.S. I Love You, Mom.