Mother of six, she
outlived half a dozen lives,
delivering little handfuls of sunshine.
Suckled them into life,
cooing cries into silence,
steadying feet that wobbled,
fixing speech that slurred,
while nurturing inch after inch.
When they found their feet,
they walked away-leaving her
to feel their toothless mouths suckling
as she sat bare-breasted in bed;
The bed her children had made her;
Among stacks of hay and buzzing flies
In the cowshed.
A mother of six left to live out in muck
A life that reared six souls;
Or were they just human moulds?
Humanity, answer this call
Don’t be deaf to your mother of six.
Lend her a hand, clothe her;
NO, just hug her close
And whisper I love you!