The Other's Mother

The mother that didn't have to be will be Celebrated for what comes to her naturally While others are incapable of loving what is not theirs She adds that weight onto the cross that she bears Her love is like water, I have drank from the fountain She teaches the mustard seed that it can move the mountain The hand she was dealt couldn't be measured, even with a golden rod The pain that she suffers is no less than her sacrifice to God Beneath her feet she teaches the devil to lie While using her hands to teach one winged doves to fly I see her when I'm in darkness and hear her in silence An anomaly that can give even the North Star guidance In the ashes of misery where it seems nothing can remain A flower can bloom amongst suffering and pain The mother that didn't have to be will be Ingrained in every fiber that makes up the good in me