A Sling

A Sling

Metaphorically became
a cradle…
Mother Earth wrapping
herself around her child’s
wounded limb.

The fall was great.
The limb took the brunt
of the storm.

There still lingered moments
of the unknown.
What took place before
the tree, I am.

What tree describes me?

Is it the Oak?  My leaves
changing in extraordinary
color each year?

Or am I the Willow?
Weeping up the sweet
sustenance of life’s 
varied moistures?

Maybe I am a Pine…
endless tap roots connecting
me with this Universe and

Mother Earth laughs aloud.
The cradle holds my limb

There is no space
between us.

Mother Earth lowers
her voice whispering
softly to her healing

“You are part
of all three
cradled so gently.”
I was fast asleep.



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