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A Mother and Her Children
Our voices will speak again
of the green of these meadows,
again, of this vicious rain.
Our hearts will again spoil us
so we can keep again
the vows we’ve made.
With rough hands undertaking,
And hearts soft to our awakening,
while onward the years crush
with soft moans and earthly cries,
we praise the dawn that spells
our doom and breaks our ties.
We wait among the willows
While Summer chokes with light
steals the mist from our blooms
scours our days with blight
Our years measured in hours
with faint, rhythmical bits
Leaves us gray and withered
With occasional, useful fits.
And yet the newborn scream
bewildered and waiting,
waiting for a smile upon awakening.
Our hearts leap to them,
we move quickly to ease their pain.
It is noontime on the subway
and a mother is holding an infant
with a dirty diaper, another infant
pleading with innocence –
“Save me!”
Copyright 2016, Ronald J. Hoffman, Roaming Snyder Publishing. ASCAP
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