Country girls and woman folk

‘tis a country girl that knows to be

in complete and utter harmony

with the wild that calls within, within,

in the dead of lonely nights

but she wakes to find the sun up high

on the crying fields.

The crying fields spread far and wide

over all her hopes and needs inside

and she traces them with hands attuned

to the fabric of despair.

Such fabric is o’er laid with fear

and studded with the beads of need

and the pattern formed a travesty

of the wild that calls within.

‘tis country girls and woman folk

who know of harmony and fear

and how it works to blend and meld

the real into the false

and grow amidst the crying fields

one red and vibrant rose.

That rose looks left and right,

sisters, brothers, none

and then it knows to stand upright

and speak for those who can’t

and it screams into the atmosphere

with all it’s innate might.

The echo travels far and wide

but so deep within the crying fields

it fades before the target reached

and the rose knows it must die

before the next sunrise.

Today there is no rose to shout;

the crying fields have spread and grown

beyond the confines of the known

and of country girls and woman folk

they’ve become like you and me

misplaced and dispossessed

of the wild that calls within!

Helen / 14 September 2009