My mother is absolutely beautiful.
Possessing inner beauty
and great faith like Sarah,
a humble servant like Mary
placing herself at God’s disposal,
dependable, hardworking
and loving like Ruth,
caring and responsible like Esther
and a virtuous woman like Abigail.
For her worth is far more than rubies.
She speaks with the dulcet tones of an angel.
She is every child’s dream.
I am in awe of the woman
God choose to carry me
in to the selfishness and cruelty
of this world.
But it is my mother’s two iridescent wings
that keep me warm.
Every time she wraps me in her arms
it’s like recreating the unforgettable and tender moment
when a child drowns into the beauty
that is the arms of their mother
for the first time.
My mother is so beautiful
that the stars shine on her
every night, because
she is a black ocean
carrying the tides of her children
while enduring her own.
Yet she looks up to a brightness
that illuminates her expanse.
Her incriminating faith in God is inspiring.
Her love for something greater than herself
is so great that it
spills over in to her children.
For her household is clothed with scarlet.
Strength and honor are her clothing.
She opens her mouth with wisdom,
and on her tongue is the law of kindness.
She girds herself with strength.
Her lamp does not go out by night
because she does not eat the bread of idleness.
Beautiful and strong
my mother is a queen
far more than I could ever hope for
and all I could ever want to be.
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