Mother is a cactus, that strangest of plants,
She prickles and bristles when crossed by her brood
But when life is not hectic,
She comes out in the open,
Revealing her soft, warm heart
She cares not for herself, except when in danger
She soothes, and strokes, and wipes away tears
She walks with grace, and speaks with care
In short:
The perfect wife
The perfect hostess
The perfect teacher
The perfect mother
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