Mom on the move

a poem by Priya Mouli

Mother, mother,
O lovely home-maker;
The soap of joy she lathers,
Whilst the sinister fire she smothers.

It’s his goal, yet SHE ran,
For behind every man is a woman.
She may fondle, she may chide,
Only to be an eternal guide-
By the day she works harder and harder,
Just to prove none but ‘woman’ is the best manager!