Mother Earth Poem by Mark Heathcote

Feathery bursts of ashes rumble, without verbal sound
Swallows switch to stitch each sunset
Disappearing into each electrical grey nimbus cloud
But one day soon the mountain will expound and be moving
It shall belch and groan such as a mother giving birth to
Her child, a steaming ball of moonlight, in its afterbirth
Howls for now, but has nothing more to offer us
Other than a chard self-offering
And we, we are like parents in its wake, we are a spent-force
Its lava path is just as twisting as a descending red-hot railway-track
Its unstoppable energy; its course can't-be-changed
And one-day all manner of things will come to rest upon it
And sing its praises like a life-giving sage.