Sad, Mad My Dad Poem by Muhammad Shakour Algnash

All mothers around the beautiful merry globe
Your sympathies for us exceed and break the range
You ponder of us by bringing any kind of hope
What can we do, what is your wage
Through cheerful or sorrowfulness you attend
Rend your children but later they stare and abhor
You raised them with love not with any sort of offend
To weep when they are sick it is, too sour
All prophets called upon your holy name
Admitting by religious respect you with dignity
Resting in a cot now look who came
Still humble and with her smile of simplicity
My self I cannot reward you as the money unworthy
No matter we do compensating you but no matching trophy