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 glove, that ever special kind of love


Written by Geraldine Taylor ©