Mama

by George Bailin (May 2015)

How,

without a single sound,

did suddenly descend

on mama’s brow.

how?  avalanche of white,

neat ringlets, waves,

freezing billows

to crown her,

regal, bright

in her shattered dark.

 

beneath a ragged night

she slept, white

as exile.

 

never had I seen

before how frail

a queen may be.

o, friend,

so feeble is authority!

 

sharp, the night

must sever

silently

what swiftly comes,

and soon must go.

 

know: frightful

is such frailty,

a  wrecked, reclining

sovereignty.

 

o we learn here this:

indifference to what is

is not compassion,

is far, so far

from majesty.

 

 

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