Suns of colors yellow grace my sky blue
with shadows of starburst night in their height
of luxurious stretchings. There are few
as regal as you, mother-tall, sons bite

into your form with youthful scorn of strife.
See only futures, expanses and sky;
will not see you perish as you give life.
It saddens me, mother, to see you die.

And, yet, to beget creation of hope
is no small matter, mother. Profound sight
has roots of wisdom, and power to cope
with fragility – with strength to take flight.

Sunflower tall, with you I fall into
oblivion, as true night fades sky blue.

Erin Elizabeth Kelly-Moen
© Copyright 7/11/04