Creator

I worry for things big and tiny,

She sits by my side calmly,

Reading a small book.

I look at her closely,

I see her still not old,

But disguised to be so.

Her birthdate disagrees,

For the pale eyes mirror,

Her bright young soul.

Her mind forgets things,

Repeats sentences again,

I smilingly listen to her.

We go for short walks,

When behind me to catch up,

I stop, she waves me to go.

Her inside yet so sturdy,

Nothing has changed,

When I falter, still she scolds.

Ninety-year-old hand I hold,

Kiss her thin cheek,

Mom then hugs me close.

With teary eyes, I realise,

When my creator is with me,

What have I to fear!