Sunday, 24 November 2013

The Bereaved Mother

Her bosom is a dreary desert
Her eyes dry river-bed
She walked the ragged stony path
Patriotism luring her away
Then her nest was robbed of her fledglings
At the altar of war
Now she has a sky full of blessing
And swears by non-violence
The whole world is her home
She breathes in every race
Posted for Susie's prompt @ Real Toads
Shared with Poetry Pantry @ Poets United