Daughter
Years apon years I sought her-
child never born of mine,
Daughter.
Here. Now.
Alive in every blossom, born of soil and water.
Brought forth by another Mother,
Yet nurtured at my hand.
come/go
ebb/flow
a winters sleep, my child,
cradled by the Land.
posted by brittanicals at
9:26 PM
2 Comments:
Beautiful and so very moving. Did you take the photo too? Thank you for sharing this. It means a lot to me.
Hey, Peterson! I am honored to see you here, I have really been touched by your story and blog.
The photo is one of many of my garden. I hope to find time to post more. The poem is a song of my heart--I am the mother of four wonderful, much loved sons, from age seven to eighteen. With each birth and for some time there was a hope for a daughter. She was never to be.
But not having a daughter has forced me to seek my own space, to really need to manifest the feminine, so to speak. The primary way has been through my garden. I can dress her in all the pretty pastels and lacy textures that my baby girl would have worn, and "she" fills a space in my heart.
I am so thrilled to see you here! Thank you so very much for leaving this comment.
Post a Comment
Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]
<< Home