House of Mud

In a house of mud and straw

Forged by those I dearly know

A place where I often, in my memory, go

But I can not stay


I run

On tiles of clay

Hand made by a husband and a wife grandma and grandpa

Big part of my precious life

Source Unknown

The meaning is lost

The tracks are fading with the rain

The world doesn’t know her name

Yet she lives

In the meaning they assign

The words get redefined

The prophet becomes a poet

Writing notes

Passing time

And forgets her real power

After all

It’s rare to empower

A child with a pen

Channeling the source within

So they cite her teachings

As source unknown