and tonight it is
the elder, mother god
of which i speak....

she  snores and snuffles
in the lazyboy chair
slumped awkward
and sombulant,
akin to a ragdoll,
carelessly,
tossed aside,
after a day's hard play.

and it is in the cracks
and crinkles, both large and minute that craze and track
accross her well worn,
well loved face
that i see,
the god-dust...
lingering.

and as i gently,
place a woolen wrap
over her tired old body.

i take a moment...
to give thanks and
worship,
her hard earned diety.

and the mothergod...
slumbers, snoringly on.