To my one and only abode, I now write,
With words that flow from my soul’s delight.
To my dearest mother, this sonnet I compose,
Is an allegory of my unfathomable gratitude, I suppose.

Your eternal love, care, and patience
Embrace my flawed existence.
In the tapestry of existence, intricately spun,
Your guidance, a thread with grace was spun.

You are flawed, you commit mistakes, and imperfect in every way.
But you are the best present God has bestowed upon me.
The way your lips curve in a parabolic way eases all my agony,
How I wish it will remain that way infinitely.

Seeing your tears traverse from your perfectly brown eyes,
Gives me the feeling of being stabbed more than twice.
You are my strength and my weakness,
You are my life, and your presence is my solace.