Branches grasp at what remains, The waste we’ ve let go of. While ivy and weed tries to regain, Scraps we leave in animal’ s homes. Lies a severed squirrel’ s paw, Torn off by junk on the floor.
We throw it all to Nature ' s keep, We kill what endlessly gives. Nature loves without a thought, But we have no shame, we Destroy without a purpose, excuse Or a name.
Mother My mother sends messages through songbirds, Guiding me home at night, waking me in the morning. Her love is cast upon my face when sunshine returns, Seeping through branches onto mossy floor, slowly warming. Her hopes are reflected in the purple skies swirling, Flecked with silver starlings, soaring. My mother’ s apologies come in hazy weather, Nipping my cheeks, looking at crystallised cobwebs. It’ s so white, it’ s making me sneeze and tremor,“ What are you doing with life,” mother says. Our home is so cold, may as well be outside in drizzling rain, Mother says,“ we can escape it if we go for a walk.”
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