she is a mother, but she is not mine
once a year i come under her grasp
it is gentle, sweet, kind like my mother’s lap
she sings me into my well-resting sleep
fillng my head with dreams that i lack
i wake one morning knowing that the day will be my last
and that the serenity i felt in her arms has now passed
today she seemed angry that her time had elapsed
and i lie awake dreaming of days out of my grasp
as the view changes outside once more
and i drift away from her sands and her shore
i wonder what it could be like if i were adored
and cherished like she has me forevermore