The First Of September

What makes you old and wise is not the fact that you old and wise but that you are wise and old. So when you birthed courage you birthed us, so its not the strength in a muscular figure that makes you strong but the ease at which you made it seem, alone.

You nourished us from the bread crumbs, collected from the masters court, feeding our souls with Samuel and Saul, stories of old without ever knowing the feeling of a pen rolling from the pages skin, illiterate only by book.

You are the first of September, spring fiesta, located in the southern tip of my heart merging the atlantic ocean with indian. The finer days before my father left, your voice the semi-tone to an angels cry, tears of gold I never seek to mine.

Your lineage is from the Amafengu to the Batlhapeng merged delicately to weave the goddess of the herdsmen daughter. Your words hedge mountains in solace. Your words shape the continuity of stars and garment the moon all because you are my mother.

Reviews

[Lizardo]

Words of wisdom, very nice poem

[Kurl Urban]

Much appreciated

[Kurl Urban]

Thank you, much appreciated.

[Falling Leaf.]

Hmmm I can feel your passion in your words. You come at my mind from an angle; your words do cloak a lot of meaning... it's a montage of metaphors, a mosaic of your heritage. Incredible writing. Thank you for sharing.