My mother is a blooming flower,

Whose fragrance fills our home each hour.

She is the joy that softly sings,

The bliss from which our laughter springs.

My mother is a flowing stream,

That carries hopes, that fuels each dream.

She is the strength, the guiding light,

That moves our family through the night.

My mother is a boundless flame,

From which our very life became.

She is the sky, so vast, so wide,

A canopy where we confide.

My mother is the blazing sun,

The source from which all life’s begun.

She is the star whose endless grace,

Creates the cosmos, time, and space.

My mother is the world’s own art,

The soul that shapes our beating heart.

She is the womb, divine, complete,

For which even God admits defeat.

The Symphony of Nature

Come, breathe the breeze, so fresh, so fair,

And wander where the woods declare.

Let streams of life within you flow,

Where Nature’s gifts in silence grow.

How bright the hues, how vast the skies,

Where every dawn a wonder lies.

Apart from her, we cannot stay,

For Nature molds our mortal clay.

The rivers sing in gentle tune,

Their whispers blend with sun and moon.

The gardens shade with tender grace,

Soft petals smile on Nature’s face.

The mountains teach with steadfast will,

Their silent strength, majestic still.

Protect this gift, this sacred trust,

For guard it well, protect we must.

Each leaf, each breeze, a song, a sign—

In Nature’s arms, our souls align.