The Drove (Walking A/Way)
The Drove (Walking a/way) In the Autumn of my Motherhood The leaves are turning. Each leaf - a page in my daughter’s story. Soon, the leaves we’ve grown thus far together Will lie fallen beneath our feet As she creates her own path Through the wilderness of our world. As she walks away, ahead of me, along The Drove, For the first time I see a young Shepherdess, no longer my timid sheep. Realisation pierces my bark-shielded heart, arrow-like; Her independence will one day leave me Obsolete. I shiver, My branches hanging bare, Cold, through the childless Winters yet to come. I curl up, under a mossy blanket, foetal, dream… Thriving, not simply surviving; Will her leaves grow with vigour Once out, from the limiting shade of my canopy? Or shrivel, without protection From the unforgivable heat? Will blossom adorn her, Bees swarm to her, Birds nest within her open branches Producing a generation who'll return here too, someday? Perhaps she will find pleasure, solace, In her rich tapestry...