Maid, Mother, Crone

 

Like many poems I write, this one started with a rhythm.  I suppose you could say it is the rhythm of life, as girls grow up into womanhood and beyond.  I hope that girls out there, whatever their current stage of life, and whatever their choices have been, will enjoy this bucolic poem, set in a simpler, but no less menacing time.

Thanks for coming by to read!

 

Once, just a wisp

Of maid, I danced

On breezy meadows,

Lads entranced,

And picked the flowers

Of circumstance.

A wisp of a maid

In the barnyard laid,

To become a farmer’s wife.

 

I made my mince pies

One at a time,

One at a time,

On a farmer’s dime.

One at a time

I drew the line,

And split the loaf

With greasy twine,

And then, my bread I’d bake.

And lie in the bed I’d make.

 

And soon the children,

Two by two,

Stuffed my stomach

And stubbornly grew,

And gathering herbs

For my potion’s brew,

With a wink and a shove,

Through my garden flew,

And out the garden gate.

 

Now, what will I do

As my hair turns blue,

And the torch approaches

Two by two,

And the cockatrice

Crows a solemn coup,

As they lay the thirsty stakes,

And I count out my mistakes,

And I feel my muscle aches,

And the moments left

Are a frenzy of fear–

 

Worse than you’d ever

Imagine, my dear.

For the Lord, he gives.

And takes.

 

Copyright 2021 Andrea LeDew

 

To read about earth mothers in our homeschooling experience, read A Tribute to Earth Mothers.

For a nostalgic look at the value of friends, especially in the setting of disability, read One is Silver.