Road of Mater

From the height, I see no sign of fright.

As I was in “survival mode”.

Desperate in search of bran to feed my hungry brood.

Praying the universe to unleash our dear ones,

To feel at home once again.

As I recall those honey-colored days.

Moan of protest would come from the psyche.

I’d doubt if there is really someone out there watching and listening and caring.