By Shawn Marc B. Carreon
The light that forever holds its hollow lover, Embracing her beauty, a statue I favor.
A woman with imperfections, that’s my mother,
She’s not flawless, but so different from others.
She’s my shade that shelters tears of rain.
In her eyes, I cope with sincerity, a comforting embrace.
As the world twirls along negligent signs,
She remains like wine, aging finer with time.
My words fail to capture my love for you mother,
I long to express it in ways beyond this paper. May you frolic in joy akin to a sweet day,
As tulips waltz in celebration of your loves say.
