WORTH THE FIGHT
Posted: Mon Mar 26, 2012 9:05 am
WORTH THE FIGHT
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LH8ByDhm ... ature=plcp
With no tinge of colour the mounds of crushed paper
are swathed in the gloom and the pressures of time.
An insatiable god has sucked all the moisture
from earth. Paper mountains now compound the crime.
Outside a new calf is bawling and floundering,
he’s learning to breathe in the damp misty air.
His mother, bone tired keeps an eye on two ravens,
her babe worth fighting for. Her duty of care.
That’s life. Always full of endings and beginnings,
the cycle rolls downhill – takes your breath away.
You’re kicking the dust and waiting for the silence
but inside you’re screaming ‘I still want to play.’
Listen to the wind, see the shadows of clouds
hiding from summer rains and, running through fire
of a brilliant sunrise that bathes all in glory.
A vision so splendid of which you don’t tire.
And sometimes when sore eyes gaze over the paddocks
that once were a green, lush and high waving sward,
where bluebells danced daintily down in damp hollows
and every day given was its own award.
It’s easy to think that a man must be crazy
to struggle each day against nature and earth.
A solution's eating your guts just like ground glass.
You stop and remember. You value her worth.
Maureen Clifford © 03/12
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LH8ByDhm ... ature=plcp
With no tinge of colour the mounds of crushed paper
are swathed in the gloom and the pressures of time.
An insatiable god has sucked all the moisture
from earth. Paper mountains now compound the crime.
Outside a new calf is bawling and floundering,
he’s learning to breathe in the damp misty air.
His mother, bone tired keeps an eye on two ravens,
her babe worth fighting for. Her duty of care.
That’s life. Always full of endings and beginnings,
the cycle rolls downhill – takes your breath away.
You’re kicking the dust and waiting for the silence
but inside you’re screaming ‘I still want to play.’
Listen to the wind, see the shadows of clouds
hiding from summer rains and, running through fire
of a brilliant sunrise that bathes all in glory.
A vision so splendid of which you don’t tire.
And sometimes when sore eyes gaze over the paddocks
that once were a green, lush and high waving sward,
where bluebells danced daintily down in damp hollows
and every day given was its own award.
It’s easy to think that a man must be crazy
to struggle each day against nature and earth.
A solution's eating your guts just like ground glass.
You stop and remember. You value her worth.
Maureen Clifford © 03/12
As long as I don't try to help him hands on, I'd have the cows in the creek or something