In the quiet of the morning, before the dawn's first light,
A mother rises softly, preparing for the fight.
Her days are filled with labor, both thankless and profound,
In the endless work of motherhood, where true love is found.

She moves through every moment, with grace and silent strength,
Attending to the countless tasks, no matter what the length.
Her hands are never idle, her heart is ever near,
In the shadows of her sacrifices, her devotion is clear.

She weaves her love...