Sitting on her ancient haunches
she sits in the sand
protectress of slaves,
stoic as stone,
a grim smile
as the elite
ponder the
magnificence
of their sacred being.
Waiting, oh so patiently
while errant children
rule as tyrants. Mine,
mine, Mine.
Nevermind... naughty brats.
A Mothers love is patient,
tolerant to a fault.
Now she is cracking up,
the folly of their regal play
is over, the slaves are free,
fire breathing dragons are funny...
When the sandy dust settles
ALL will be well with the world.
Hahaha... it is a good laugh indeed!
