My Mother at Sixty-Six My mother at sixty-six, with eyes like warm gold, Stands like a golden flamingo, standing tall. Her laughter rings like a sweet melody...
My mother at sixty-six, with eyes like warm gold,
Stands like a golden flamingo, standing tall.
Her laughter rings like a sweet melody,
A symphony of grace and youthful zeal.
Her hair, a tapestry of silver and gold,
Flows in the wind like a bird taking its flight.
Her smile, a radiant beacon, brightens up her face,
Illuminating the room with her radiant grace.
Her laughter is a treasure, a precious delight,
A melody that soothes and makes everything right.
She is a legend, a story to be told,
My mother at sixty-six, a treasure of gold