Dedicated to my Scottish, and Ruthenian-Pole Grandmothers and all of us women. Under the moonlight
She glances at the mirror
And sees an aged woman at her summit
Yet still with a spry and vibrant heart.
She still tastes life's offerings
Olives, wines, figs, dates and cheeses
Pleasing her palate from her coffers.
Her tastes has not faded
But has ripened to value life
And its long braid of delights.
She dines in the home
Of the ancient Gods
Where a mist blesses her
With nectars of Earth.
She can see for miles wearing this age,
And no longer needs to watch her step as
She walks confident in this stage of life
Knowing well how to hold herself
In the good and in the bad times
Until the day comes when
Time will sacrifice her back to the Earth
As only a sacred mountain can be brought down
This way: Tumbled into gravel and sand.
Red, White, Black, Brown, Yellow sands.
We all will. We women.
We women born in the gorge that
Elevated us to our pinnacle.
We rise high above in to the clouds
And dust our Earth once again.
She glances at the mirror
And sees an aged woman at her summit
Yet still with a spry and vibrant heart.
She still tastes life's offerings
Olives, wines, figs, dates and cheeses
Pleasing her palate from her coffers.
Her tastes has not faded
But has ripened to value life
And its long braid of delights.
She dines in the home
Of the ancient Gods
Where a mist blesses her
With nectars of Earth.
She can see for miles wearing this age,
And no longer needs to watch her step as
She walks confident in this stage of life
Knowing well how to hold herself
In the good and in the bad times
Until the day comes when
Time will sacrifice her back to the Earth
As only a sacred mountain can be brought down
This way: Tumbled into gravel and sand.
Red, White, Black, Brown, Yellow sands.
We all will. We women.
We women born in the gorge that
Elevated us to our pinnacle.
We rise high above in to the clouds
And dust our Earth once again.
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