An Honor To Our Mother


The glowing sun peeks over the edge,

The clouds sparse, yet still present, 

Collecting and growing in size…

The gentle breeze sways the leaves on the field,

The tired cattle rest after a hard day of toil.

And the man looks with pride

Upon his first harvest of the season.

At dawn break, the entire community will toil instead

To make the harvest into a grand feast

A feast to express their gratitude 

A feast to honor the nature

For without the will of the Mother

The tables shall remain bare

And the stomachs all empty

So let the boiling milk tip over the edge

And let the feast be spread

For this is the way of our ancestors 

To finally show our gratitude 

To the Mother who kept us all fed!


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