My mother is softer than the clouds.

  She holds the sky in her palms, and feeds me spoonfuls of rain, gently gently, as if she's not standing in the downpour.

  My mother is bigger than the universe.

  She covers my trembling body with little trouble and shows me the earth through her eyes, kindly kindly, as if she doesn't bear its scars.

  My mother is warmer than the sun.

  She lights up the colder nights, gathering us around her in a huddle, surely surely, as if winter isn't knocking at our door.

  Mother stays calm, Mother smiles.

  Mother sings a lullaby; Mother shuts our eyes.

  Mother says

  Don't fear children; As long as I'm alive, the world will ask first.

  In a small house on the edges, Mother is the light.

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  She is the walls and the floors.

  She is the life of her carefully built house.

  Mother says

  As long as you're here, I need no more than the edge.

  Mother says

  As long as we're here, whatever season it is, it will pass as gently as the wind.

  Mother says

  Gently, child. Gently.

  My mother is the soul of everything.

  Little does exist without her essence

  My mother is lovelier than sweets and flowers.

  She holds me in her arms, and I smile

  I repeat to myself, gently child.

  My mother is softer than the clouds.

  If a day comes that I need to look up to find her

  I know she'll be waiting at the edges of something kind.

  Her arms will be open for me to fall

  And I will, as I did all my life.

  She'll be waiting

  She'll be waiting.