"The Mother's Song" by Amanda Westling

Rain whispering on the windows,

The wind humming through the valleys,

But inside, here, warm and straw deep,

Is a Mother's song.

Up on new branch like little legs,

Downy, curly, bright little mane,

Curvy tipped little ears flipping,

To hear Mother's song.

She is tired, with sides still shivering,

Her muzzle, touching with joyful throb,

Of her deep sweet talk to her babe,

Her Mother's song.

And I can only watch and listen,

While the wind hums and the rain whispers,

Outside is all but forgotten,

For she sings the Mother's song.

-Amanda Westling

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Do you remember?

          When I was your true best friend, and you whispered it to me in my ear when others weren't around.

            When you came out to ride on my soft back no matter how windy, or how tired, or how bad the day had been.

            How I used to snuffle in your hair, and the goose bumps would make you squeal with delight.

How you used to bring me treats everyday and we would have peanut butter cookies and apple juice beneath the trees in the pasture.

 Do you remember?

            When the wind sang to us, and the moon shone her face so we could play all night long in the cool green wheat of spring.

          When I was magic and no amount of adult interfering could make me otherwise, and the only adornments allowed to grace my pearly mane were roses and ribbons.

          How I convinced you that unicorns were real, and you secretly suspected that I was one when the starlight cast just so over my brow.

            How fairies used to lead us through the woods to discover whole cities nestled in the trees and velvet moss until we regrettably had to go home for supper.

 Do you still remember?

          Now that I am old, and you are no longer young.

            Now that magic is a word merely in story tales.

          Now that children and job has taken you from my side and from my sunny pastures.

   Would you forget me?

To no longer braid roses and ribbons in my milky mane

To go hunting fairies with me till the moon shines down and the stars cross my brow till the dawn.

 Would you forget my magic, or remember me and come whisper in my ear,

Truest Friend.

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   Imagination 

T' was amber twilight when the beast arose

Awoken from his slumber.

Grey green smoke drifted from his nose

And out the cave he lumbered.

  It was true that Marlburg had been the first

First of all the Dragon.

Of course of the drakes he was the worst

And in no need of braggin' .

  His scales were made of the strongest gold

His eyes like the sapphire.

Horns of crimson mighty bold

And a toothsome grin of ire.

If mighty Marlburg had been the first

His counter was the last.

Last of all the Unicorn birth

Horn of steel and hooves so fast.

Windsong was his noble name

One suited to the "T'

He had streaks of lightning in his mane

And a coat of blackest ebony.

His kindred called him the "Dragon Slayer"

A title rightfully earned.

His bravery led to many a lair

And he feared not as many learned.

So when time came for the titan's clash,

The two were justly met.

Marlburg's snarl was bared and brash.

Windsong's horn at the ready set.

  No one knew what had started the war,

But there was ego at stake.

And plenty of brawn to settle the score

Pride the winner's own to take.

  So from twilight to first sunrise,

These two titans traded blows.

On the earth and across the skies.

But not  found when the sun rose.

Some will tell you in the end,

They scattered like the dust.

Fought so hard their bodies rend,

To fly at the slightest gust.

  Still others will tell if you listen some,

To stories of Is, Was, and Are's.

That Marlburg burned himself to the Sun.

And Windsong to the Stars.

  Of course the tale I tell is just a story,

Listen if you care.

To the memories of greater glory,

And Imagine if you dare!

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