Trapped in my sorrow, I pick up my quill,
To write of the darkness,my heart cannot conceal.
Ink spills from my pen,like tears from my soul,
As I addressed my mother ,forever beyond my hold.


Oh, mother dear ,your spirit lingers near ,
In the shadows of my thoughts ,you appear.
With every stroke of the ink-stained page,
I seek solace in the memories we once engaged.



The quill dances ,as if guided by your hand ,
Transcribing the love...