MY MOTHER

I think my mother with brown hair came here

Out of a quiet place,
Where she had rested well, green year on year,
With leaves above her face.
Death had not held her in brown earth and cold,
But, happier trees among,
od took her to a garden sweet and old
Because she was so young.
!he came to me with very quiet eyes,
"ull of still light that crept
Out of long dreams that made her starry#wise
$ll summers that she slept
.
I had been far across a stony hill
$nd down a glade of thorn,
$nd tasted of all fevered springs that spill
%he waters of red scorn.
I thought my mother with brown hair came near,
$nd on my loneliness
!et one white hand of cool and holy cheer
In tenderest caress.
!he had not passed the brambles and the stone,
&or known my withered land'
(et, when I faltered weary and alone,
od made her understand.
David )c*ee Wright
The Bulletin, +, December -.-/