The Art of Motherhood

Nearing sunset
we begin the end
by quieting our head
and hopefully, in soft arms,
we settle in and down
pillows resting our minds
as we slip the bonds
and are gone.

Behind the lace shades
of our closed windows
we waste quietly away
the night leading us,
following our dreams
sometimes of fancy
sometimes of fright
wherever they might.

With fair luck
we wake to the morn
lifted by what we've seen;
if other wise, in wonder
of what the daemons
really did mean
when they screamed
"Get 'em!"

She tells me I speak
in my sleep all about
somethings going on, in
grumbling phrases mumbling
words seemingly soothing
like a mother assuring
her fondling back
into sweet visions.

Now you're probably pondering
wandering awake in my dream,
hearing echos of whispers
most likely softly cooing
"Remember Sun Tzu
never, nor has anyone
ever but a fool, said
'Choose your battles wisely',
because, My darling one,
only a fool fails to wonder
if that coming battle just
might have chosen them."