In morning
She rises
To the sound of water
In evening
Her repose
Is the clear light of day
(and
always always
the innumerable Hum:
of
I AM
flooding her brain)
One morning, though,
there will be no rising…
One morning, though,
No clear light of day.
One morning
One morning
Her children will instantly (somehow) know:
Ah, she has dropped the body.
Ah, the butterfly soul!
Oh dear sweet mother,
how long are your days with us?
Oh dear sweet Amma,
how long can your hands hold?
anyalight.com 
This is beatiful!
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As are YOU, my friend! xo
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beautiful
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