Let flow your tears, dear mother you, the drops fall not unheeded. There is someone who knows your hurts, He tarries not when needed. Oh mother dear, your empty hands, ache for that love so true. From first breath drawn to last tantrum blown, you see it all before you. Wrestled from your hard-earned home, your heart flies to flames of abandon. The cries of fear and protest halt not, the bearer of your affections. Oh mother's love, you won't be still, not when you've always known best. But the ways they found seem better yet, And they will walk on in protest. And seeds need time to grow, the tears that water them must flow. Deem the laughter from those days of old, to provoke memories to remind them. The tiny sprouts will emerge, what bane will want to choke them? Yet some will escape cold finger's dread, and burst and bloom to fruition. Still in patience you must wait, They do not grow to please you. Carry on without a backward glance, your shadow must not shield them. The wait gets harder, trust it will, on broken heart and back so bruised. But knees still bent with faith intent, will be your ward and buttress.