.
On the old porch outside her room
she sits a'spinning on her loom,
weaving memories of times long gone,
gently singing a Native song.
Of rivers running on the plains
swollen from the mountain rains,
of the deserts endless sands,
and of toil with calloused hands.
She sang of buffalo and of bear,
of a paradise for all to share,
she also sang of the forests deep
and of where wolves go to sleep.
Her song dies away like a friend
when her spinning is at its end.
The Great Mother retires in silent gloom
and snuffs out the candles in her room.
Thus stilling the night of a Woman's Moon.



© Pagan Paul (28/01/19)

When the sun and moon and stars align
And the darkness is most bitter sweet
On the backside of our turning time
With inches meaning less and less
It's where our two perspectives meet

And when the rolling river cuts its path
Down beneath the deep, the grand abyss
As the ages pass on through and trough
That's when I will recant
That’s when I will return to you

For as the arrows fly and pass you by
So the winds of change flow steadily on
Both forward and through every tree
Yet inching towards to former fount
Only when in stillness will I ever be

For it's between this heaven and this earth
Between the sun and moon and land and sea
It is WHEN we only care about
When it ought to be the man to be

Heaven our impatience
Earth our wonder
Wind a wandering mind to keep
Between is no other