Seafarers speak of a mother,
yet do they mean the woman who bore them
or the blessed virgin whose child granted them salvation?
No, not they.
The one of whom they speak, they sing,
is angry, is cruel,
is gentle, is beautiful.
Her rocking arms, her lapping fingers
cradle each toy boat in their guiding, loving grip.
Seafarers tell of their mother's voice,
her marvellous voice.
Hissing, sighing, wailing, crying,
Tousling her sons' hair with her breath, as only
A mother can.
She may not have borne them to the world, but
Her children will return
will always return at each one's sunset
to her silent, silent embrace,
kissing them to sleep.
Who is Mother Earth, then?
I know not.
Only one mother have I; her name is