A Mother’s Plea

I have seen her days of glory

And now growing older; of much grace.

A fabric fine it has a square face

Aromatic and embellished all flowery

With a corner in palm, each one of us

Have been playing a tug of war.

Pulling her from one side to another

With every pull , a little torn and thus

Rapidly wretched did she turn .

A little scar from all of us.

In a state pathetic she burn

All claiming to love her fuss,

To meet our wishes she has to run,

What a shame it is for all of us.