The Mother
She awakens with the dawn, in the warmth of the sun.
Her children rouse and begin their routines, of hunting, gathering, nurturing, feeding.
She sways in the gentle breezes, She watches the shadows.
She covets the cubs and gathers the flocks.
She moves as the sun moves, watching and waiting.
Yet, sometimes She cries, cries for Her wounds.
She gives of Her body and Her soul, yet they take and never return.
She heals with the tides, and Her arms always open wide.
But as She’s abused, Her wrath grows ever stronger.
She calls the Winds and whispers to the Fires.
She tries to warn those who would injure Her soul.
Yet they continue their brutal and greedy actions.
She is boundless as the universe in Her love and Her loyalty, but every spirit has a threshold.
Someday She will reclaim her gifts, with all of the rage and fury within.
And She will be reborn once again.
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