With anonymous faces
you watch over my cradle,
your voice as soft as the aurora,
hair the color of a Ditch Lily
brushes against my cheek
and when I look up
my own face echoes back
at me.
My first rainbows are soaked
in your tears,
I am busy with life Mother,
its been so many years.
I am filled with light,
is that so wrong?
google art
