When I let out my first breath,
Mother's arms welcome my frail frame,
Tucking me under a chest – warm,
And round like the full moon.
When I am covered with dirt,
Mother's arms wash my infant head,
That I can be hale, hearty and hyped,
For a fresh rush of kisses,
On my finicky forehead.
When Sleep dangles,
To the beats of my dizzy eyes,
Mother's arms are a soft pillow,
Where I seek egress to a world,
Full of nothing but,
Ten thousand bottles of milkshakes,
Ordered from a myriad of milkbars.
When pain and sickness weigh me down,
Mother's arms lay me down,
Gently into a safe haven,
Where my weary soul is at rest.
When Happiness lits my little eyes,
Mother's arms are two strong pillars,
Holding me high,
Like a rainbow in the sky.
When I fall from my first baby steps,
Mother's arms are like windshield wipers,
Patting the corners,
Of my teary eyes.
Mother's arms are a griffin,
Dressed in stern eagle eyes,
Waiting to whip my naughty self,
That I may become a man of aught;
And when I come off the naughty steps,
Mother's arms wrap me up,
Like a Christmas present,
Chasing the pains out,
Of my very own sight.
Whether black as the ace of spades,
Or white as snow,
Mother's arms are always open wide,
With love that runs eternally.
PS: Mother's Arms was inspired by Ann Taylor's famous poem, "My Mother."