Upon your lap, my Mother Earth,
I listen to the river's song,
of renewal and rebirth,
that calls me home where I belong.
Like a tree, my roots go down,
deeply where there is no sound,
only earthworms burrowing,
through hallowed ground.
Like a tree, when harsh winds blow,
that assault me, then grow still,
the fickle weather helps me grow,
changing me, as weather will.
Like a tree, my centre lies
where human folly is forsaken.
Your heartbeat says:
Endure. Just wait.
These earthlings one day
will awaken.
I am not holding my breath about earthlings awakening, but we can hope!
ReplyDeleteBeautiful poem and so we wait for this awakening into the light.
ReplyDeleteWhat a lovely way to spend an afternoon, Sherry, sitting on Mother Earth’s lap! A gentle poem that lifts my heart.
ReplyDeleteThe old Irish poets believed all the rivers had their source in sacred trees rising from the Otherworld. Thanks for showing the way home. - B
ReplyDeleteI hope you are right Sherry. The sleep has gone on far too long.
ReplyDeleteI love the metre here, especially:
ReplyDelete'only earthworms burrowing,
through hallowed ground.'
A magical communion with Mother Earth.
Lovely. May we awaken in time.
ReplyDeleteSherry,
ReplyDeleteI love trees. As you may know, I live among the pines. There's strength in this poem and the softness of everything around the woodland.