Mothering

Transitioning from my spiritual home I resist my entry, fearing unknowns I’m swaddled and cleaned and scented with foam My mother whispers, “This now is your home.” An infant I fuss commencing great cries Mother soothes and comforts and dries my eyes She’s tired and wilted but doesn’t give up Always parenting me from her loving cup And when she grows old, it’s transitions once more I protest and struggle as I did before And although I fear to be left alone Her heavenly friends greet her, “Welcome home.”