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~ By Courtesy of Others ~


For Peggy Tubman, my Grandmother.


On the hillside drear
The fir tree dies
All bootless its needles and bark
So falls she who birthed the one
Who likewise brought forth me.

Cattle die
Kinsmen die
And so dies oneself
But what seeds have sprung from what is lost
May feel the sun return

Prepare the grave
Lay down the bones
Let the ice winds take your tears
Let daughters take up motherís tasks
As mothers to daughters return

Crone to Disir pass with death
Maiden to Mother with birth
Mother to Crone with wisdom learned
As the wheel of time still turns.

On the hillside drear
A fir grove stands
Its needles richly green
Sheltering heart in its center marks
Where the mother of all has been.

© John T Mainer

This work by John T Mainer is licensed under a
Creative Commons Attribution-NoDerivatives License.

The Freyr's Press of the Heathen Freehold Society of BC:
Kindertales and Kindertales 2 by John T Mainer et al.

Image: Hills at Vagamon Kerala. ©Bibin C.Alex - Bibinca.
This file is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported license.

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