Give her a crown, give mother a crown please, she has out done herself, soften steal, bitten by foes and she is now weary yet trodding with tiresome feet. She’s a beast, stood for many and has never been defended. Dragged through the dusty fields of this life, bruised chin and bruised heels, tasted the salt in her eyes, testified on behalf of her worries, she’s a bit fragile. Mother has been tortured, nevertheless she prays for others, the others who have repeatedly slaughtered her, picked her to pieces, never liked and will never come to love mother. Like I should care, ugh! Like she should care, anyone for that matter. There is a hole in her happiness, her rusty bones creek still mother walks with strength, she’s meek, she strives with determination and only a child can see beneath mother’s frustration, only a child feels mother’s pain. There is a book of tears on this woman’s pillow, a diary of heartaches and sorrows. A lonesome gathering, mourning mother’s family’s malfunction, a burial of connection. Travellers go, travellers come, mothers dead in her solemn hum. Mother has a heart of gold and I don’t know why they treat her so cruel, mother has a heart of gold and sometimes the body gone leave the soul. Watching her get feeble, at times restraint, more so consistent. Her spirit in this material home and the body’s just sitting cold. Give mother a crown for the breath she gave to a dying man, for labouring her days in his house, for being brave even when the heart wasn’t stout, for taking all thrown at her and lay them aside gentle. Misty eyes and silent distresses, there is a time for all this except mother’s everyday. The pain sinks deep into the flesh of her emotions like fangs feasting on her wellbeing, most times i find her in a fossette, most times i find mother in a lost state. Give mother a crown, give her a hand, mother has a heart of gold, yet they treat her cruel, I can’t see her, the body gone leave the soul. Give mother a crown for she is holding the fort.