Nana

…and now it does seem,

great Mother,

that you are upon

a slow Autumn

the final season

of your full life

 

the flock you nested

has long since flown, confident and vivacious

into the bright Summers

which your careful Spring-raising made True

of six 9-mooned Winters

resiliently carried through

 

there are now birds of those birds

nests inspired on those you prepared

the multiplication of your first work, speaking its success

reverberations of your Love, unabated

still spawning seasons, Summers

thriving on the essence of your light…

 

…and so, indeed, as much as it may seem,

great Mother,

that your body has turned on you

and now terminally sheds and folds itself away,

the spirit and truth you have given us to fearlessly fly on

can neither fall nor whither, but prove you, immortal.

F is for

Feather tickles on the soles of little feet,

A worn through gaze outstaring early crying eyes.

Moments for life of life-stages shared complete,

Impossible hours of love turned hate’s disguise.

Limitless seasons of care without defeat,

Yardstick measures as to whom and where it applies…

 

Of many, many-few are set on repeat

Reductions of a world made on fewest ties,

 

Under trees of blood, the shade will show deceit…

Stand no more homes ‘til the World-as-Home may rise.