My Mother, The Earth

December 22, 2007
On the hill,
No one lays claim to your life.
All there is to be done
Is to be,
Simply to be.
Grasses rustle,
And wind dances,
Plays with my hair-
Like a mother,
My mother, the Earth.
And as twilight becomes
A reality,
Winds whistle
High and Low,
of My Mother,
The Earth.

Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback