Tuesday, August 4, 2009

The making of a mother

The mighty river flowed and surged,
Ignoring those staring from the edge,
Mere mortals that they were,
Pondering the perils of being bottom fetch’d.

Trembling with fear, they boarded the raft,
So tiny was it, she almost laughed,
Oh! I could eat them whole, they’ll never know
Their virgin voyage, ended with a breath’s gasp.

Perhaps to humour herself, she let them row
Making small waves for them to conquer,
Having them yell, ‘Forward!’ and ‘Back!’
Readying to swallow at their first error.

And then she heard the joy in the lively laughter,
So refreshing an emotion it was to her,
In a journey begun as ice and ending as brine,
That she willed it to carry on further.

She bid the wind to sway and blow,
The clouds to make way and the sun to shine,
The Sun’s warmth made amends for her cold,
As she hummed her riversong to the paddle’s rhyme.

No longer did she care only for her path to the sea,
The next bend to turn or the next rock to wither,
And in allowing them to safely cross,
The Rampaging River became a Caring Mother.

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