The Conclave
I worry as only a mother can
About a time when I am gone
And you are bereft of root and branch
To tether you to life when the winds of fate buffet
And threaten your footing.
But then your conclave is convened
And people who love you fiercely and truly
Despite and because they know
You to your core both fault and fame
and your roots have grown together.
All of you bright and shining people
With glittering futures promised
Link arms before taking flight
Secure in the knowledge
That each will provide a safe landing for the others.
Written for my son Noah (and his friends). Published via LexPoMo 2021. Image by Steve Wall via Flickr.
Note: I made this as a gift for Noah and his friends.
