Oxen and sheep were brought back down
Long ago, and bramble gates closed. Over
Mountains and rivers, far from my old garden,
A windswept moon rises into clear night.
Springs trickle down dark cliffs, and autumn
Dew fills ridgeline grasses. My hair seems
Whiter in lamplight. The flame flickers
Good fortune over and over -- and for what?
...
Lovely poem. Every mother should read your poem. Every mother needs to take care her children. And if she finds the addicted to the ‘net there could be a necessity to consult a doctor.