In my mother's eyes,
I see the tales of her life,
From the stories I picked,
And the brown in her iris,
I see the webs of grief.
Her palms carry scars,
Signs of the many times,
She has grappled with death,
Holding on to a loved one,
As death tries to drag them away,
Time and time again,
She faced a face of grief,
Each time a new face,
Each time a new...