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Though we have profaned her, we must never give up hope.

The gods poured out their  tears of grief upon the Mother's profaned bed,

their howling, groaning pain lashing over her bloodstained body,
as she lay there like a bed-rumpled harlot
torn and tattered by men's lust.
 
And the monsters walked over her tired face
all unseeing,
while she shuddered and trembled in restless agony.
 
Into the sudden silence of heaven's indrawn breath ,
the monsters walked...
Blinded by ambition and a thirst for power.
Like recalcitrant children,
who believe their own lies,
they rob the mother who suckled them at breast,
Scarring her ancient body with their destructive toys. 
 
And she weeps at the sight and sound of their tyrannies,
Spent and discarded by those who once held her in such reverence. 
As she lies dying,
Soft murmurings reach her failing senses ,
whispering songs of love and honor, 
hope and redemption.

Careworn hands reach down to soothe her fevered body,
and nourish her fragile soul.
 
And monsters walk... 
 
Yet the very heaven's laugh,
watching a million hands join in love,
encircling her blue green beauty,
in a silent promise of peace and renewal.
An agreement of daffodils
nod their frilled sunny heads
holding out hope of healing grace
for this tired world.