To Him She Bends

She's tired, wearied
from eons of maternal
instinct

always bent
soothing brothers, cousins,
and fathers

of Arnon or Jabbok or any wadi.

They all talk too much
and now he babbles too,

Mississippi's baby
in millenium infancy.

Willow's long suffering
stoops silent
with her flowing
umbrella

ready to sweep away
frowns of currents

that trip over rocks
and gurgles from rips
of tides.

Over there

on a sunny bank
bluebells nod,

hyacinth wave approval
with aromatic accolades
to eternal motherliness,

gardenias and jasmine
stretch scents across his foaming froth
and slip through her fronds
to take her hand.