Your Mother, Your First Home

Your Mother is always with you. She's the
whisper of the leaves as you walk down the
street, she's the smell of certain foods you
remember, flowers
you pick, the fragrance of life
itself.

She's the cool hand on your brow when you're
not feeling well, she's your breath in the air on a
cold winter's day.

She is the sound of the rain that lulls you to
sleep, the colors of a rainbow, she is Christmas
morning.

Your mother lives inside your laughter.
She's the place you came from, your first home,
and she's the map you follow with every step you
take.

She's your first love, your first friend, even your
first enemy, but nothing on earth can separate
you.

Not time, not space, not even death.