Society speaks of mothers as those who give birth—
But truth sways softly in its quiet worth.
To nurture, to guide, to teach with love—
A mother’s essence rises far above.
Not flesh nor blood defines her role,
But the steadfast care that heals the soul.
She whispers wisdom, dreams that soar,
And disciplines with a heart that restores.
Motherhood is a mantle, weighted and accurate—
It’s the love that embraces when the world is cruel.
The one who wakes, who listens, who sees—
Who loves without measure, despite displease.
No mistake is too big, no flaw too deep—
For her, love is a lighthouse where we weep.
A mother is far more than birth and name—
Her nurturing heart sets her aflame.
Ms. Butterfly Genesis
The Memoir Of Ms. Butterfly 