You birthed me, fed me, warmed me.
For years I held your hand and you guided me.
As I grew you let me go, to walk alone,
to forget your voice, to change my clothes,
become a man.
I began to gouge, to rape and burn,
in avaricious oblivion, shrugging
at the weary grimace on your face,
passive, pained and desolate.
So back you turned,
without warning and in magnificent retaliation
to chide me, as an irritating flea,
shaken from the wet dog’s tail
to teach me once again, humility
respect and sense of place.
© Graham Sherwood 3/2011
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