She’s bends at the waist,
but don’t mistake that for weakness.
It’s the weight of life—
the dishes, the laundry, the paperwork,
the kids with their stories and questions
stacked high on her back
like a globe that never stops spinning.

They sit up there,
laughing, reading,
wrapped in comfort she built from scratch.
They don’t see the strain in her shoulders,
the ache in her silence,
the way she folds her tired body into love
and just keeps going.

No spotlight.
No applause.
Just quiet strength
walking and working through the day
like it’s normal
to carry the whole world
and still make tea.
By Paul Baldry (LongJohn)