"She looks like you" you'd hear them say.
I look like me, I'll find my way.
I thought my life was on my own, who needs a Mom; you grow from home.
And as the day becomes a year, a Mark Twain thought will split your ear; you won't forget
the things she said, from day to day, in youth you dread.
Where once she seemed
to know not much, as Twain would say, she's got the touch, she now has learned oh such a lot,
How did she get so smart so fast, how did you grow so big at last?
But now adulthood's hold is crass, You see in them your future past.
A mother's love's an odd odd thing; at times she'll cry, at times she'll sing.
She does a dish, just one too many, she had a child, but not just any.
You are hers for all your life, a love whose reach goes past the sun, annoys you once
But you were young. As you get big, you see the fun.
Oh let's be clear, there were the fights, there will be long and sleepless nights. Hers
will be when you are young, yours will be as you see she's gone.
She was one time a lot like you, full of fear and strength so true.
The tough and tender are a pair, you need them both, you need her there.
The youth in youth is always you, identity of searches true,
And when you bleed from hurt of heart you want her there, you want her not.
Such a quandry to grow up and as you do you cannot stop.
Past the show, The show is now, it's taken form, the acts are planned, the stage is worn.
A mother's role has never changed, it's always love, it's always strange, to need her now,
to need her not, to know she''s yours, she's what you've got.