Jan 302015
In legendary dark
Among old stories roared
Around the dying fire as the fire
Was kith to the lithe
Fire of her eiderdown eyes.

Oh mother softly adored
In all your sainted ways
Of maybe praying
And flyover loving
Calling us "angel doves,"

Gone you are with the droves
Of wing-wrestling others
Flown all the way at once
From earth's darks
To heaven's angles.

And there she plays in fields
Of undying light
Martyr and mother
As all of them are
Chased in the storm-soaring

Haste, the speedy unwaiting
Forever is.

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