Lyrics

A Song of the Mother

In the hands of my mother,
I am forever young.
In the deep lines of her palms,
I have not yet been born.

Still the songbird sleeps in the egg,
dreaming of wings and feathers,
dreaming of springtime and infinite sky.

Not yet has the smooth shell
rocked in the nest, learning
the ways of breaking.

Not yet have the soft dreams
given birth to the hard,
to the nights of ice and hunger.

In the hands of my mother,
I am forever young.
In the deep lines of her palms,
I have not yet grown older.

Never have the gray tears fallen
heavy with salt, seeking the taste
of a trembling mouth.

Never have the fine lines gathered
like a net about the face,
to catch and hold the flying years.

Never has the widow married,
never offered, singing,
her lover's ashes to the earth.


In the hands of my mother,
I am forever young.
In the deep lines of her palms,
I have not yet neared death.

My life, a seed, hangs on a tree
somewhere near paradise, longing
for the dark, rich soils of Eden

where the Mother of mothers
dances, unceasing, pure life
without form or destiny.


In the hands of my mother,
I am forever young.
In the heart of the Mother,
I am forever.


From the book Essential Radiance:
Poetry by Renée Hummel

© 2001, 2013 Dyan Renée Hummel



 

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Mission Statement

To join my voice with others
on paths of unfoldment
and upliftment by offering
inspiration and encouragement
through spiritual poetry,
nature poetry and other
creative expressions.

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