She cries through misty eyes.
The mother sheds her veil of tears
for children once lost, now remembered.
The long dark nights and dampening days
cast a shroud around her.
She is silent,
She is still.
Enveloped in a silvery haze.
She is old and wise
and gracefully waits,
Knowing what will be will be.
So she slumbers,
Silently dreaming,
Awaiting rebirth