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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Placed 9th in : No. 1238 New Poems Only Sponsored by Brian Strand Since her birth on the mount She moves down the hills And her burden surmounts Out of her own will all along, Humming gaily a lovely song. Lending ears to mother`s refrain Cleanses the heart from any pain, Imparts peace to a wearied mind And a sense of solace to the soul Anywhere one just cannot find In the earthly world as a whole. Still purring her pleasing song, She hastily hustles down the vale Carpeted with deep greens all along And bordered with tall luxuriant trees With birds chirping on the branches, Or gliding as creatures gay and free Along the unblemished heavenly arch Airing their best tunes, trying to outwit Singing mother`s divine blissful tweet. Soon she reaches the undulating plains Where she can eye jovial sugar canes Staring for rain at the azure sky in vain And sourcing their food from her bed To feed their rooty and thirsty veins. The singing river treads on and on Through bushes, leas and beyond Until her eyes meet the swarmed city With tall buildings jostling factories. What does she behold to her dismay? Worn out mattresses and rusty frames Laid down on her flanks in an array, Dry branches thrown on her lane And bleached water joining her flow. Instead of her sweet melodious song Mother a sad and woeful moan blows As she just wearily winds her way along To the very end of her preordained destiny At the wide stretch of the welcoming sea; Man may come and man will certainly go, But singing mother will ever and ever flow. Let her ever hum her holy melodious song As on her journey she merrily moves along; Let us not tarnish Nature`s bank or her bed, But pay all the desired respect to her, instead.
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