Maid
You see me now in youth and glory
You see me fresh and free of worry
Will future bliss be my ascension,
Or will my life just give me friction?
I stand here on the threshold wary
But who can say that life will tarry?
No, I must wait and pray and please
To find a friend, to live in ease
Mother
To each his own, and thus flows life through gentle vessel
Casket, critic, savage guardian, still gives quiet space to nestle
Gentle mirror of tradition, tutor too to help awaken
Triad’s triad ne’er forsaken
Ugly, Old, or poor and sickly, I can notably inspire
Young in beauty – rich in power, without reason, wouldn’t tire
Secrets shelter, secrets darken, secrets wither and conspire
Still, the circle has no ending – giving life but to expire
Matron
Now, looking back what did I hope for?
Now, all my life what did I grope for?
My life is blank,
My words are frank:
I did my share
But found no care
Now, what is left is an enigma
And still my age remains my stigma
Ye maids and mothers please beware
To set you right I must declare
That youth and age cannot compare
The end may force you to despair
Thank you Debi Ennis Binder for the inspiration for this poem. The middle part (Mother) I wrote in answer to a challenge she set me — re a riddle in her WIP.
© HMH, 2021
So beautiful!! I love that I can actually see my inspiration, but that you took my few words that I tried so hard to make into something clever and thought-provoking (for others–it was a riddle for some travelers, where the answer was Mother), and you did it, then wrapped that into a poem that to me feels like the essence of a woman. Thanks so much!
Thank you for your kind words, Debi!
You did inspire me to write this and that’s what I’m grateful about. Without your riddle, I might never have written this poem.
That’s why I love sharing. One idea that I had, that I knew I couldn’t turn into what I wanted it to be, became just perfect in your hands. I mean it! It was as though you understood the personality of my character (even though he’s a tree) and produced a riddle just as twisty-turny magical as Ivann himself! I hope that revealing that gives you insight into why your poem excited me. A cursed tree can’t possibly say anything outright, yet he once was a quirky, charming elf. Sigh–just magic!
Maybe it is because I used to hug trees. . .
Honestly, when I was a kid, I had a love affair with trees. I also wandered into the woods in the night. That was magic. Close to my childhood home, there was a small woodland and it was a favourite haunt. Maybe the magic that I found among the trees is what came across. Thank you Debi!
I’m also a tree lover. We live in the desert–tge high desert now– and every tree is precious. Hubby just planted 7 more. In the front, in our Fairy Circle. Even the “weed” trees, those that grow indiscriminately and take the space of others, get moved to a pot and replanted. I can’t take seeing a living plant cut down for no reason. 🌳🌱🌿
I do agree — every tree has a right to live. It’s wonderful that you pot and replant the ‘weed’ trees. A fairy circle of trees in the middle of the desert sounds wonderful! 🌳🎋🎈💚
Trees LIKE to be hugged — I’m certain. . .
P.S. — heehee, I can just see you hugging trees!