They praise war hero’s because they conquer by brutal force,
blood measures the heart of a hero.
But land stained in red cares not;
how many men slain by a sword;
mother earth is a giver and a lover to all.
When greed destroys, she adapts.
When you invest in her, she gives tenfold.
It’s not her nature to withhold and covet;
that is the free will of man.
She’s full of wisdom, broad as an eagle’s wing.
She’s the wind beneath feathers;
she’s the rain that heals.
She’s intuitive; she’s powerful though invisible.
She is commanding, but she doesn’t wail.
She’s overlooked, but she never fades.
But when the earthquakes, we feel her.
The Woman. Our Mother.
She has a far greater purpose than flesh and gold.
She’s the womb of life; she’s the creator of souls.
She holds the world together.
She brings order to chaos.
She’s selfless; without her, love would have conditions.
Without her, evil would rule.
She is God. She is an Angel.
She is a woman, divine and pure.
