She plays house like she sees her mother do.
Preparing dinner and washing dishes too.
She watches and gleans from her mother's ways.
Everyday keep your mother's ways and put them to practice is
      what I say.
But there is something speical about the little lass,
Something refined and worked, like polished brass.
Ah, it's her eyes that give it away.
Those mother's eyes. Eyes that would never betray.
So pure so innocent
Eyes that only know recompense.
As you age in your mother's eyes,
A silent tear falls as I cry.
For one day soon, I'll have to say good-bye