“Lao po love”

In morning’s hush, a kettle sings,  
The scent of oolong, gentle things—  
My Lao po smiles, her eyes a spark  
That kindles warmth when days grow dark.  

She moves through rooms with grace so mild,  
Patience blooming, soft and wild;  
With every meal, she weaves delight,  
Steamed buns and laughter, glowing light.  

She saves old photos in a tin,  
Recalls the village, kin and kin—  
Her stories, sweet as candied plum,  
Remind me where our hearts are from.  

Through years and change, she holds my hand,  
Her voice a balm, a silk command.  
We weather storms with tea and song;  
With Lao po love, we both belong.  

So here’s my vow, with every day:  
To cherish more than words can say—  
In wrinkle, comfort, joy, and woe,  
My Lao po love, I’ll always know.

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