How can you look at your mother and your father, who carried you before you could walk, who played with you to make you laugh, to see you smile, to hear your giggles, who for no other reason than the mere fact that they just simply loved you far beyond your comprehension. How can you not look upon their faces and feel a warm glow inside. We simply need to care. In a village, somewhere in the world the sun is setting. In the distance, mountains veiled white with snow.
Colors rule the sky, with a warm ember glow.
Somewhere in the sleepy village a child lays crying, Cared for and tended since birth. As the sun gives tribute to the dusk, the old look on. With their lined and weathered faces they watch, Tended by their children, that they love so much.