Blind

He was young, frail,
      in need of protection
Mother Earth, in her grace and gentleness
      allowed him Her kindness
sang him to sleep with the soft humming from her belly
   fed him to satiety with tears of happiness
      rocked him to peaceful with the gentle shifting of her legs

Slowly and surely he grew strong, sure-footed, mighty
Stretching his roots, rustling his leaves
Raised with tears and sweat and blood
He was Her pride, Her joy, Her love
Her child.

But he grew
his roots slowly sinking deeper and deeper
digging, stabbing, spearing Her fleshy womb
leeching off Her tears of pain and hurt
proudly rustling his branches as She writhed
She bleeds in the dead of night, a slow trickle, as Her child slowly reached for the skies.

and still She gives.
and still She loves.

For what is Love if not blind?