The Mother and the Lost Child

The emerald plains of grass that stretch
Across the horizon and beyond,
To a field that no one has ever tread upon before.
The aged old tress sway at the breath of a playful breeze
That roams the contours of the land.
Lying as still as the sun, the lakes stare
With glimmering eyes at the sky, an azure shade.

And further north, where the

Birds and beasts all berth in sweet repose,
A gentle stream meanders upon the earth.
It grows and washes down over the rocks as an exuberant
White waterfall, that from the land, sees all.

Beyond her land a dead dark wood lies still.
Its cold dank air creeps stealthily across the dirt.
And deep within a fire burns, its eyes, defiant as a tiger.

The mother land extends her arms and offers her rivers of joyful tears

And the fruits of her heart.
But cold and hollow, like a lost child, he turned them back.
And from the land, the waterfall sees all;
And the waterfall cries down in silence.

THERESE LUONG