Mother

Yourself, an accident at birth,

the twin that survived

as your sibling withered and died.

Clothed, fed and nurtured

you grew, flourished became beautifully

nubile, fruitful, child-bearing.

We grew, from you, as you, in your image but

made mistakes, were careless, ignorant

becoming selfish gluttons 

for wealth and visibility, but

mother you embraced us still,

acknowledging our naivety.

You gave us freedom, independence 

travel, learning, experience, culture

showed us how to understand the stars,

think for ourselves, make decisions

some that hurt you savagely.

But the crucial secret that you held, 

you hid from us, as a mother would,

our brief predecession, 

before you take your own rest 

your work done. 

*

© Graham Sherwood 06/2019