Middle-Eastern Mother Poem by Heart Of Ink

No child is poor
In this wholesome land
A mother's love, he drinks
From the tips of her hands
Not a sword, not a gun
Not a thing misunderstood
But the word of the one
Written in God's holy book
Have a taste from this heart
And you will never be alone
Mother's kiss, mother's hug
All that she will ever show
Not a secret to be masked
But a treasure that she buries
And then digs up from the heart
For somebody else here to carry
Generation to generation
In search of sand and better soil
Desert city to desert kingdom
You are the queen that offers oil
So black and so ink-like
Your love is rich in its substance
Well-made and well-refined
Your love is rooted in its region