She

I'll let the poem talk for itself.

She

Her immense pain, no mortal can endure
Astounding fortitude in a damsel so demure
Like a myriad blades cutting through live flesh
She bears it for a tiny life, innocent and pure

Her compassionate eyes, windows to this world
Filtering goodness from all that is hurled
First she gives life, then the way of life
A sense of right and wrong is thus unfurled

Her endless patience puts a spider to shame
A remarkable virtue, but different aim
Her patience, selfless and nurturing
Its patience, selfish to trap and kill a game

Her loyalty, unmatched and tenacious
In an unreliable world, a support so precious
She may chide or berate in private
But in public, waxes lyrical infectious

Her unconditional love, a mighty shield
Belittling the chivalry gentlemen wield
Relentless and protective, lifelong it flows
Where pains are cured and hurts are healed

No friend, no father, no sister, no brother
Like her, there is simply no other
‘Tis her ruby red blood that ignites one’s existence
That’s why she’s called the Mother.