New leaves may have opened
But it's the same vine
Growing without fear
Of reprimand,
For it's nourished by water,
Sun and wind
As if they can't be wrong
In pushing who they are.
The flowers crowded out
Don't seem to mind,
They don't send out the call
For a victim's stand,
They always choose the light
And breeze and rain,
And if that's not enough,
They won't say anything.
I guess that's why the Mother
Loves us best.
We question and resist, flail and cry
As if we are bereft.
We wish to hurt whomever
Gets in our way,
Although we hardly care enough
To give such souls a thought.
And in the patterns we see symbols
Of the errors we have made,
Look to world's unseen otherwise
To atone,
Take dictation from an otherwise
Silent sky,
Receive as more than life
Her ever-present love.
