Beacon
Come walk with me.
Let's breach the bridge of years,
pluck each shaped stone of life
to hurl at stars
or hold as memory....
When I was small
the smell of you was safety.
The shape of your hands--
scarred with blood, bone and blessed Earth--
became my home as soon as held.
Your gallant rain-bowed figure,
trudging before,
became my beacon and my hope.
2 comments:
That's so lovely, Lucy. (And is your mother, as mine is, a gardener?)
I hope she and you had a great day.
Am I allowed to be a tiny bit jealous? You obviously have an entire constellation of love for her.
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