A Mother's Winter Evening

A blue-pink veil adorns the erubescent sky.

Phlegmatic clouds survey the life beneath.

A babe sleeps in her pram, protected, warm,

politely crinkling dried leaves under her wheels.

Her mother is a singing storyteller.

She tells her daughter of the tireless pilgrims;

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You are in it all

You are in the music that plays as she sleeps.

You will stay with her when Ieave her side.

You are in her dreams.

You are in the darkness of her room as I close the door.

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This Body

This body, strong, feminine, is mine.

Fearfully created from the divine.

Crafted from imagination untamed.

Holy, earthly, adored, shamed.

Endowed for purpose and miraculous glory.

Every scar whispers its story.

Deserving of dignity, care and respect.

Victim of loathing, pain and neglect.

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