by Ethel Mortenson Davis
I will call you dignity.
You are my mother.
You elevate our character.
And I will call you generosity;
you are my father.
You give us a largeness
that frees us from small meanness.
As for you, humanity,
I will call you lost.
Remember when you said,
“What good is poetry?”
“I cannot shape it into a vessel
and drink water out of it.”
“I cannot form it into a purse
and hold my money in it.”
Now, my lost one,
you have fallen into a hole.
You are on your hands and knees,
calling in the darkness
for your mother and father,
calling for poetry to be written.
6 responses to “Poetry”
Wonderful poem, Ethel. So true, so very true. Poetry is the bread of life.
Thank you, Betty. Love to you and your family. Ethel
Love back to you and yours, Ethel.
Written from a sad and generous heart. Wishing you both all you might wish for yourselves in the coming year.
Hope the year will be one of beauty. Love Ethel
It is in the eye of the beholder I’ve heard it said. Though I believe that is only a partial truth.