Lonleyinacrowd

When your mother has grown older,
When her dear, faithful eyes
No longer see life as they once did,
When her feet, grown tired,
No longer want to carry her as she walks,
Then lend her your arm in support, escort her with happy pleasure—
the hour will come when, weeping, you must accompany her on her final walk.
And if she asks you something, then give her an answer.
And if she asks again, then speak!
And if she asks yet again, respond to her, not impatiently, but with gentle calm.
And if she cannot understand you properly, explain all to her happily.
The hour will come, the bitter hour, when her mouth asks for nothing more.

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