Anxiety in Mosaic

TRUEST MOTHER

38 Than a hundred rift valleys, I have borrowed the mellifluous voice of many-a-river To sing her a ballad on illusion; A ballad of hope So lend me your silent voices, O many-a-palm grove! That under tonight’s blessed moon I may stand outside her window And gently gently serenade my love awake from her sleep; Her nightmarish slumber of privation TRUEST MOTHER You, from whose inexhaustible breasts Babies and foster-children From distant and enemy lands Have suckled generously to their fill, You are the truest mother of men You, who only smile, At the ingratitude of grown up nations Which you rocked to sleep on your ancient lap When they were babies, You are the truest mother of men Today, that umbilical cord From you to all your children; nations big and small Cannot be severed with such A blunt-edged epithet As Dark Continent And tomorrow, truest mother…! 39 As you go about your chores of motherhood, Keep strapped, upon your aged back, With those very loins of kindness, Your great, great grand children 40 ...