Mother By Christine Swiderski

May. 9, 2016


First of mothers tended a garden
Born of the earth and rib
Wisdom gained after sin
Her offspring learned from her
Soft spoken rebellion
seems pleasant for the moment
Only to evict you from the garden
Leaving you on the outs
Deception slithers it's muse
On it's belly is amused
As mothers learn pitfalls of life
hoping their offspring is spared
The indignity of her mistakes
Bringing forth a garden of sweet
pleasure to the heart and soul
As her children bloom
Her heart whispers a prayer
for her children to be perennial
strong, prosperous and wise
Each shoot from her children
Are grand extensions
Producing a garden without weeds.
Separating the wheat from the tars
Winnowing in the wind sins
Heritage renewed with each generation
Leaving them to tend the Garden.

Christine Swiderski