A Poem

Poem By John Shea

I cradle the travelers in their windy Birth,
My name is Mother....Mother Earth.

I Give them a bed in nature to lie,
When they hear that sweet lullaby.

I wash them in my rivers and streams.
Thier furtive flight is a product of dreams.

When the dream ends and they always come clean.

They thank me with colors and odors of fall,
And remind me to give Old Man Winter a call.

What am I?
The leaves inspired by,
The one who says,
'Semper Fi '

Comments about A Poem

I've read several of your jewels! I love the way you flow thru them I think I get it! Thanks! ! !
'They thank me with colors and odors of fall' Rachel Ann Butler
cradle the travelers in their windy Birth, My name is Mother....Mother Earth. .......mother and motehr earth carry the same meaning and purpose in our life only the thing we must reaspect and realise the value behind it...lovely write and i approciate it....19 read mine...... mother......watched halepleely
beautiful poem with vivid nature..well done


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Other poems of SHEA

Dancing In Heaven

Dear lord here I sit with pen in hand
Hoping you will understand
Lillian will be dancing with the stars
With mother nature

Feathered Tears

I spied a bald eagle using the wind
To hunt for his prey.
He wandered afar as to leave my eyesight
Then soared with the wind

My Visitor

An English Sparrow flew in my kitchen,
A female because I know my birds.
She looked at me and said where are my treats.
I said the health inspector was here.

I Believe What.

That pie are not square
They are round

Best dog I ever had

Homeless

A cardboard box is my home
In the city where I was born
Wine beer and rats are my best friends