Mother made a home

The memories of our old home, they are vague to me now

But I remember what this place used to look like

Wild fertile ground, charming and unlivable

And you, with your rough feminine hands

You sowed every seed, shaped every tree

You built every room, painted every wall

You mended the cracks 

Bent the sticks and glued the stones 

You made something of every single nothing

Until alas,

Home to creatures that fly, and creatures that crawl

And those that walk upright when they need to lay down

You are one with nature and nature is art

You mother, are art

And you made us a home

To me, a paradise to rest my tired mind

Let me come home and rest in your arms.