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.