The warming brush of summer wind sighs over bare arm skin,

The sounds of blackbirds’ cheerful song is carried on the wind.

Shouts of children’s joyful play is heard clearly on the breeze,

The feel of mother’s gentle breath puts me at my ease.


A pattering of raindrops falls from the cloudy sky,

Gathering to form in puddles where on the earth they lie.

Running in streams and rivers to the sea they go,

The veins of our mother’s vital blood in which her blood does flow.


The glow of rosy firelight comes from the Smokey hearth,

Shining through the window it marks the traveller’ s path.

Dancing about the sacred blaze our ritual in the night,

Round and round and in and out until the sun god’s morning light.


The old oak stands firm planted deep in mother earth,

Supporting sustaining and feeding awaits the harvest’ s birth.

The mountains lie beneath the grass a backbone to the land,

As we go about our daily lives nestled in our mother’s hand.



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