Spectacles

Show me who you are and i shall paint out broken columns on the valleys of her back as if such figure is un-common i have found no beauty bending as the vines that are her hair and the frailty of man upon her back is what she bares bleed her body for the harvest let them feast upon her soul for the nurishment of mother is leaps beyond so bold she is like the flower growing in the deepest of dark forests,amongst the ivy and hemlock but her skin is much too porous to concern herself with games that tantalize the men, as they marry on crusade it is her children that she tends sheath your swords with her ambition and tip your arrows with her will, craft your armour from her strength and in the battle you will kill come now children from the pasture and lay each upon her side, suckle gently at your mother although theirs pain she does not hide though the water leaks from rooftops her leaves are thick and block the rain, as the water level rises cling to her branches with no shame she is the stone upon the beach, once a mountain pound and breached yet still her disposition clear to love her children that are near inspired by Roots Frida Kahlo, 1907-1954