The Mother's Prayer


Sweet child, why have you left these green fields,
Tall trees and swaying buildings beckon.
Your chilled palms mock my burning cheeks,
They'll never grab for fallen sticks and running hares
again, nor will sand slip through your stretched fingers.
Closed eyes cannot see sunsets,
and quiet lips cannot sing forth the dawn.
You should be up again, up and running,
Dancing through the morning dew and chasing fluttering beasts
Chattering with another youth, creating a world with your mind's eye.
Not closed away, lying prone without Dreams
or a Future, or a Thought, or a Prayer.
Come, love. This is not a final bed fit for a stone,
Much less a beacon of light, of hope, of luck.
Do not allow yourself squalor, for you are suited
not for creaking spires and cobwebbed crypts.
Reach for the green fields of this Earth
the wooded hills and clever cities,
It is in those places, that you will find happiness,
It is in those places, that you will find me.


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