Friday, 2 August 2013


The old wrinkled woman has no family ties,
But, she never feels alone & she never cries,
No soul-sisters nor brothers to call her own,
But you´ll never hear her weep, nor ever moan,
She never knew her parents, had no kith nor kin,
Neither man nor babe, she´d ever held to her skin.           

This lady was mother to every beast that strayed,
She was the sibling to every lone tree that swayed,
She became the aunty to every little bird that flew,
She was the mentor & pupil to every plant that grew,
She was lover & wife, to universe & whole wide world,
And to her bosom, all of nature, she claimed & furled.

She laughed at soft flitterings & teasing of the leaves,
She blew sweet kisses of love that flaked on the breeze,                
This lady walked in forests, green & at times very wild,
To the whole wide world, she was its playful little child,     
The sky above was her mirror, where she saw past faces,
The oceans held promises of those far & exotic places.

“I have family”, she shouted, “so don´t feel sorry for me”,
Every member related, in feather, fur, scale, claw & tree,
Every blade of grass, blossom in every colour, hue & shade,    
All my family, in homes of every desert & mountain glade,          
Giggles of streams & tears of raindrops that joyfully cries,
All these magnificent folk  belong to me, all my family ties.

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