A Poem Poem by John Shea
A Poem
I cradle the travelers in their windy Birth,
My name is Mother....Mother Earth.
I Give them a bed in nature to lie,
When they hear that sweet lullaby.
I wash them in my rivers and streams.
Thier furtive flight is a product of dreams.
When the dream ends and they always come clean.
They thank me with colors and odors of fall,
And remind me to give Old Man Winter a call.
What am I?
The leaves inspired by,
The one who says,
'Semper Fi '
'They thank me with colors and odors of fall' Rachel Ann Butler
cradle the travelers in their windy Birth, My name is Mother....Mother Earth. .......mother and motehr earth carry the same meaning and purpose in our life only the thing we must reaspect and realise the value behind it...lovely write and i approciate it....19 read mine...... mother......watched halepleely
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4/24/2024 1:21:49 AM # 1.0.0.1119
I've read several of your jewels! I love the way you flow thru them I think I get it! Thanks! ! !