english,
If there is one thing in this world that I would question,
It would be the existence of she.
How could have God created a creature so beautiful,
How could have God destined such to me?
A whole day in front of her can never be started without a cup of coffee to keep her going.
She can never leave the house before making breakfast not for herself but for her loved ones,
Not before she does the dishes,
Not before she sweeps the floor.
And once everything is ready, she leaves with her coffee, sets out for a busy day.
She reads her books and writes what she must,
Striving hard to do her best.
And when the sun has set, she can finally breathe
And head home to get some rest.
One, two, three hours pass and she finally reaches the door.
She opens it and longs for the sweet caress of her soft pillow against her cheek.
But since she is she, she has no other choice
Than to make dinner fit for three.
She cooks, then washes, then sweeps and brushes,
She works until the moon is high.
Finally, it is evening, such a peaceful time.
She sets out her books and her paper and pen
And again, she starts to work.
Her coffee's gone cold, such as the night,
Her eyes cannot help but close.
And so she drifts off just as morning strikes
And the sun rises again as she gets up to make herself a new cup of coffee.
She is strong and she is smart,
She is brave and she is kind.
Her mind has the depth of the seven seas combined,
Her heart has colors a rainbow could have never projected.
Above all, she holds all the wonders of the universe,
The stars in her palm, the sky on her fingertips
Yet willingly, she gave all her treasures away
And took my hand to share them.
How could I have been so blessed
To enjoy her company on my best days,
On my worst days
And on every day there has ever been?
This is my only question,
This is what I cannot comprehend.
Who may she be, you must be wondering,
Who is this angel that has been given to me?
To answer your question would be my pleasure:
This poem I dedicate to no other
Than my very own loving mother.
Literary (Submission): The Only Thing Worth Questioning
If there is one thing in this world that I would question,
It would be the existence of she.
How could have God created a creature so beautiful,
How could have God destined such to me?
A whole day in front of her can never be started without a cup of coffee to keep her going.
She can never leave the house before making breakfast not for herself but for her loved ones,
Not before she does the dishes,
Not before she sweeps the floor.
And once everything is ready, she leaves with her coffee, sets out for a busy day.
She reads her books and writes what she must,
Striving hard to do her best.
And when the sun has set, she can finally breathe
And head home to get some rest.
One, two, three hours pass and she finally reaches the door.
She opens it and longs for the sweet caress of her soft pillow against her cheek.
But since she is she, she has no other choice
Than to make dinner fit for three.
She cooks, then washes, then sweeps and brushes,
She works until the moon is high.
Finally, it is evening, such a peaceful time.
She sets out her books and her paper and pen
And again, she starts to work.
Her coffee's gone cold, such as the night,
Her eyes cannot help but close.
And so she drifts off just as morning strikes
And the sun rises again as she gets up to make herself a new cup of coffee.
She is strong and she is smart,
She is brave and she is kind.
Her mind has the depth of the seven seas combined,
Her heart has colors a rainbow could have never projected.
Above all, she holds all the wonders of the universe,
The stars in her palm, the sky on her fingertips
Yet willingly, she gave all her treasures away
And took my hand to share them.
How could I have been so blessed
To enjoy her company on my best days,
On my worst days
And on every day there has ever been?
This is my only question,
This is what I cannot comprehend.
Who may she be, you must be wondering,
Who is this angel that has been given to me?
To answer your question would be my pleasure:
This poem I dedicate to no other
Than my very own loving mother.
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