The lady of my Home

The lady of my home is not sweet but sour,
Not very charming but pour,
She is not gorgious as moon, not even eager as noon,
But it woos me to love her with laurels and honors,
Wrinkles of her face explore the journey covered by his bare feet,
She brought affection to every one who came across his way,
As same like growing sun's gloomy ray,
No body never had though of her any way,
 She was like a light house who never got light,
like a flower who never smelt any sweet odour,
She worked in her husband's home as a whore,
See her, she never complaints,
As she was born late,
It is was her fate,
So she was always on gate,
only too see, only to wait,
For the day,that will be only her,
With the most brightest  light with softest fur,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,