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Ingrid Oliphant

The Mother


The Mother of the Rivers

The Mother of the Mountains

The Mother of the Trees

The Mother of the mud and magma, her primordial ooze that made man.

And the Mothers in the wind, that dance amongst the starlit trails

and leave their footprints in the sand.

Daughters and sisters plucked like poppies and papaya; ripened at first moon but sweet-tart before then.

Fair trade?

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