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Dark cypresses-- The world is uneasily
happy; It will all be forgotten. --Theodore
Storm
Mother of roots, you have not
seeded The tall ashes of loneliness For me.
Therefore, Now I go. If I knew the name, Your
name, all trellises of vineyards and old fire Would
quicken to shake terribly my Earth, mother of
spiraling searches, terrible Fable of calcium, girl.
I crept this afternoon In weeds once more, Casual,
daydreaming you might not strike Me down. Mother of
window sills and journeys, Hallower of searching
hands, The sight of my blind man makes me want to
weep. Tiller of waves or whatever, woman or
man, Mother of roots or father of diamonds, Look:
I am nothing. I do not even have ashes to rub into my
eyes.
James Wright
Read
poems about / on: mother,
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woman,
father,
happy,
fire,
dark,
poetry,
world,
journey,
women
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