At the knee, I often speak.
For the sake of time – I name skies upon my bed.
Aurora, Little Bear-
Drifting my prayers upon highest loft.
Shall I ask for help?
Shall I ask for more?
Tiny lights romancing together. Laying their burdens down-
Laying their burdens down.
Mama weaving, her broom’s made of straw.
Mama bringing in the sheep,
Just to hear another man preach.
She believed the Most-High, ought to be a woman.
Then we might all get a little sleep.