A proverb celebrating mothers.
Whose joys recreate the climaxes of the mountain?
And whose love reaches the depths of the ocean floor?
What is whiter than snow?
And what is more fearsome than the roar of the lion,
Or as beautiful as the iris of the storm?
Whose intricacy likens that of an arachnid’s web,
And the burning intensity of the sun,
Yet boasts the cool poise of the moon?
She is a worthy confidant to her husband,
And he values her counsel.
Only the Lord keeps her children,
Her presence is an appeasement to their hearts,
Her smile a delight to their souls.
To be made in her image is a privilege
To be her splitting image a blessing twofold.
But what loves more than the heart of a mother?
And what is as delicate as her gentle, hardworking hand?
Her loving embrace is like the shade of an oak tree.
The leaves bow before her majesty,
The wind whistles fables of her greatness,
As the clouds make way to bless her handiwork.
At dawn the birds of the air chirp and adore her,
At dusk the stars of the heavens spell out her name.
It is at conception she reaches the peak of the mount.
Even when I was lost in the deep her prayerful hand found me.
It is her forgiving heart that is as white as snow,
Her relentless passion that scares away the lion,
It is she that is more beautiful than the eye of storm.
Her fervent ambition is like the sun,
Her calm like the moon,
Her elegance like a ripe apple,
To find such like her is fruitless.
“Charm is deceitful and beauty is passing, But a woman who fears the LORD, she shall be praised.”
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