a poetry from someone

Love her as in childhood

Though feeble, old and grey

For you'll never miss a mother's love

Till she's buried beneath the clay

(Frank McCourt, Angela's Ashes)

An Iraqi boy who sleeps beside his 'mother' (which he drew himself) who died in the war. Perhaps he just missed his mother's warmth.

 It's All Good 
Wipe your tears, come what may,
You will be the one to say,
I'll be alright, I'll be okay,
Keeping my all worries at bay,
Finding the white within the grey.

We're not here to stay anyway,
It's a journey. Remember that everyday,
And that we'll arrive safely home one day,
And we work, we hope, and we pray,
That we'll be among those who obey.

You'll be alright, you'll be okay,
Allah is with you, you won't go astray.

(aiman azlam; someone from malay blog)