Every once upon a time,
I like to meet my eternal mother:
Oh, Miss Dotted Night,
And all her Quintillion children.
She spoils and adores.
Just as equally but even more so,
And for every child,
One of her Quintillion eyes.
She loves and spoils.
Then those who lay waste under her,
The dreamers: the believers,
Yet forsaken are those
She believes in who,
Because what One believes, is true.
YOU ARE READING
FaithFully
PoetryA very short and thought-provoking poem about mother nature's power to invoke our inner thought, also focusing on our tendency to expect too much from ourselves.
