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The Old Tiller


There she kneels a child of sixteen
hands a-tilling love in deep black Mother earth
and her hands feel as her heart--fulfilled
That many loves have passed
no grudge is held to bare her grief
and time to pause...as Edith says...no regrets

In precious moments
where roses bloom
a child-like smile slips through
of happier days
and through wisps of grey
steals a child

A brown-eyed vixen boy of one
tanned by the season's sun
so wanting
tugs at Mother's apron
"Uppy Mommy?"
For one quick second she was there
beside her pride and joy
then turns to see a vacant bare
lonely swing....
rocking ever so slowly to the wind
and the chimes
of this willowy day

Now time escapes her youthful glow
in years but not inside somehow
You see...
forever sweet sixteen will kneel
by roses...tilling Mother earth
...sweet dreams





©Photo Sunset 2008 -- ©Poem 1999 Charlottes G Mair



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