The Other's Mother
The mother that didn't have to be will be
Celebrated for what comes to her naturally
While others are incapable of loving what is not theirs
She adds that weight onto the cross that she bears
Her love is like water, I have drank from the fountain
She teaches the mustard seed that it can move the mountain
The hand she was dealt couldn't be measured, even with a golden rod
The pain that she suffers is no less than her sacrifice to God
Beneath her feet she teaches the devil to lie
While using her hands to teach one winged doves to fly
I see her when I'm in darkness and hear her in silence
An anomaly that can give even the North Star guidance
In the ashes of misery where it seems nothing can remain
A flower can bloom amongst suffering and pain
The mother that didn't have to be will be
Ingrained in every fiber that makes up the good in me
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