Even hard times lead her self to run
Her descendants lead her to the open casket
She still makes us the supper delightfully in her hunger
And she keeps wide awake in the night citing her prayer for the ungrateful child.
And, confusingly,
She can be a storm but easily turn to be the pouring rain.
Been the monster with an anger but the love lies within
She still believes her children
Even they has stabbed her back,
Teared her apart, casted her away from their lifes
She remains the wound into priceless lesson for her stubborn children
