In the shelter of the storm grew I,
Angry curses framed each lullaby,
Raucous rumblings rolling through the sky,
Of Mama’s brightly glistening gray-blue eyes.

Wrapped in roaring rage for blanket soft,
Mother’s heart and hands held me aloft,
The swollen river rushing ‘round her pain,
There on its banks her own childhood lay slain.

Copyright 2010. L.L. Shelton.