Once in a village, oh so small, lived a Mom so tender and tall. Her son was off, to bravely fight, leaving her with dreams each night.

Days turned to weeks like birds in flight, and oh, those stars were twinkling bright. The Mom would wait beside the gate, with hope her son would end her wait.

Weeks became months, and still she'd cheer, with whispers, wishes, loud and clear. 'Come back, my son, oh come to me,' she'd murmured under the bodhi tree.

Months turned to years, now ages gone, she tended fields from dusk till dawn. Her son no news, no whisper near, but still she'd smile, snuggle her dear.

The seasons danced, a wondrous sight, as Mom would tell the moon goodnight. Each flower bloomed and left its place, and wrinkles formed on Mom's dear face.

In winter's frost, she'd hum a song, in summer's sun, she'd hum along. Her voice was sweet like honeydew, her heart as strong as old bamboo.

One day the village buzzed with news, the sky turned pink with rosy hues. 'A soldier's come! He's here today!' But Mom just whispered, 'Please, let him stay.'

The soldier came, a kind young man, with stories of a far-off land. He'd smile and sit beside her there, and she would share her love and care.

'Your son's a hero, brave and true,' the soldier said with heartfelt view. Mom smiled, a tear ran down her cheek, 'To know he's safe is what I seek.'

So time flew on, she grew more gray, but always with a hopeful sway. She knew her love was strong, and see, it flowed as timeless as the sea.

The village knew her heart was pure, her empathy a constant cure. In every heart she wove her thread, a joy that lingered where she tread.

And in that village, oh so grand, the love she shared spread through the land. For every warrior far and wide, a mother's love could never hide.