Oh how my mum is special to me, not only because she prepares my tea
The way she sings so happily, she’s who I’d like to grow to be
She’s so sincere a heart of gold, with loving care her arms unfold
Yet longing for those days of old, new-born gift that she did hold
A soft whisper, a gentle tone, with her love I’m not alone
On days away the first to phone, that loving place I call my home
Such gentle strokes to comb my hair, she’s attentive and so fair
Her sheer presence, no house bare, the day’s she’s helped with clothes to wear
The wonder of her thoughtful gaze, the hope she kept a child to raise
Seasons new, a cherished phase, contained in her humble ways
Wrapped in warmth just like a glove, watching over from above
She glides across just like a dove, that ever special kind of love
Written by Geraldine Taylor ©