a woman,
clad in green,
in the mountains
with
dull, deep forests
and soft, blue
hills,
tills in the
ground
with seeds
not
yet ripe
with
life

a bird
chirps a sharp
tune in the
wind
and
the woman
wipes away
sweat
from
her forehead,
looking upon
her work
with a
satisfied
smile

she seems to know
everything
without ever
seeming
scholarly
and
yet you
never doubt
her advice
even when it
seems unsound
or completely
uninformed

she is the peace
that this word has
to offer

her work in
the soil,
her faithful
commitment to
the land,
that is all we
can give you
without
asking for
anything
in
return

we don’t expect
a yes
or
a no

we only expect
you know her name
and respect her
as your true
mother