Mother, I miss you,
For I can no longer
Spill over the fruits
Of my harvest
To your willing ears,
To your captive smile,
To your thousand
Acclamations.
Mother, I miss you:
My distaff, divine rod,
My compass, pointing
True North,
Guiding me through peril,
Traversing the morass
Of fear, quenching me,
Spinning laughter.
Mother, I miss you,
Conspirator, confidante,
Keeper of secrets
Inviolate.
Locked in your garden,
My darkest desires
Seeded and sprouted
And bloomed.
Mother, I miss you,
You gypsy, you roamer,
You wandering, wily
Card-poster:
What ship have you left on,
What voyage embarked on,
Without booking passage
For me?
Copyright 2018 Andrea LeDew
Really beautiful, Andrea.
Thank you!