Upon Mussorgsky’s Hill

 

     Over the other side of a hill you hear the cart trundle -

and the ox breathe deep and baritone,

   like a child born, it is a labour intensive effort -
                       that can never really be taken for granted,

            ‘the cart, may break!’

 

     The journey though,

be it a random excursion or, planned and prepared,

   offers purpose beyond the humdrum occupation -

constantly listed in situations vacant, we all toil

   on forever days we’re never paid for,-

      and though the journey just as cheap,

   there is……….. the unknown.

 

           ‘ a sparkle now has my eye, and the full hips and buxom I would want of womb!’

 

2.

 

     Bydlo conjures a symphony as I hear -

the approaching cart, the rickety adding treble to the bass

of Ox now grunting as I begin to see the Bull swagger,

     first the head, offering light upon this side,

          now shoulders and,

 

               Ma lies back exhausted, tears of wonder and fatigue

          cradling the vision of her child,

               an attending nurse wipes the blood and amniotic fluid from  the childs brow,

                    and the child upon the breast now ceases her cry.

 

3.

 

     Today, the brow of hill was beaten by a Bull,

a bull that held in heart, his wife and new born child,

          every day should be today but,

               we are all – every one of us scared for,

           ‘if there were not so many unwanted pregnancy’s, our armies

                   would not be,

                                    so big!’

 

 

Michael J Waite 9th April 2023. (for my Daughter - Sahara and my wife - Nomalungelo)