Our Mother

     The stillness speaks in quiet whispers
     On the wind, the wind a silent call
     The leaves turn as if to listen
     Then loosen and gently fall, ...fall.

     The creatures stop there frolicking scamper,
     And turn, turn to hear the melencholy sigh,
     From far away the Mothers speaks,
     A voice of sadness, a cry, ...cry.
                                   
     The Mother laments death and destruction,
     Her flesh, flesh is posioned deep,
     Chemical waste carelessly spilt,
     Seeps slowly in and she weeps, ...weeps.

     In forests so dense no light penetrates
     The trees, the trees scream in pain.
     She feels them in their writhing death,
     But still no savior came,... came.
          
     Cities of steel, glass and cement,
     The sky, sky no longer blue.
     People so busy they never listen,
     But she calls to you,...to you.

     A Mother cast off by her children,
     The ultimate, ultimate act of shame.
     She gives us her life, love and bounty,
     In disgrace we are the blame,.. the blame.                                                   

     Maybe in your gentle nightly slumber,
     Her voice, voice you'll sometimes hear.
     Listen to Her words in you heart,
     You'll see our choices are clear,... clear.     


                    Dec. 28, 1992

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all poems copywrited by Becky Goodrich
all rights reserved, not to be used without
expressed written consent