She smiles at me,
baring twenty teeth and thousand arms,
towering in the grass.
Round her crowds men - spokes of men,
eyeing and climbing for her youth
Young and fearless her children are,
and so is she,
locking her steel-coated arms
tight on her children.
Les they be careful
the sun will shine on their homes
and Spring will take them away -
cajole with his sweet talk,
lead with his loud mouth.
Four by four, the blossomed children
leave their mother, who
doesn't hear a word.
On river banks and narrow creeks,
on closing books and lovers' looks,
on baskets and gardens,
the powdered children will soar and
their mother will be waiting
where they are.
