Dripping from the leaves, home to the mother earth,
Whose arms reach out to hold the blossom of its birth
My sorrow fills the skies, the oceans flow with pain
My cheeks are waterfalls, my suffering, the rain

The thirsty soil cries out, “Please open up my womb!"
The shivering seedling sighs, “Please free me of my tomb,
And feed me with your droplets, let mercy be my fruit
And nurse me with the sunlight, so love can be my roots

The mother gives me strength; her bosom gives me rest,
'Till one day I will rise and free me from her breast
To reach up to the clouds, the mist of life I send,
And whisper, “Sorrow souls, your grief is joy again"

February 14
Copyright ©1998 Michael Paul