My Joy Unending Poem by Gerald Opio

A woman like no other.
From my first cry to date.
Always by my side.
Just like a rib.
One of her first self-abnegation.

When I was young,
she could put me to bed,
Now that I am old,
She still makes a random check,
to be rest assured that,
I have covered myself if it's a cold night,
and my head is well positioned on my pillow.

All this she does,
without my knowledge.
But she narrates to me,
whenever I'm awake,
about how I was about to fall from the bed,
and she repositioned me.
Or when I forgot to cover myself,
then she took the prerogative to.

All this she does,
Out of so much love,
Love so priceless,
Unfathomable.
A child to her,
I will always be,
even beyond my youthfulness.

Because to her,
I am still her little child,
she carried in her arms,
bathed, smeared with baby oil,
and lulled to sleep.
Her buddle of joy,
Unceaing euphoria she begot,
when she bore me,
and laid her hands on my frail skin, an indelible memory of hers,
She keeps and reminisces fondly.
She is my joy unending.

Her name is mother,
mother so special,
loving and compassionately empowered.
God couldn't be everywhere,
so He created mothers.
And delegated them with such duties, and wholesomely they partook them unto themselves.