Mother of Dragons
When my boy was young, younger than you, now,
His skin turned to black, and he perished, ash.
I remember, putrid sweat racked his brow,
How he suffered, trembled, crying — thrashed.
You were but an egg in the garden, lost,
I remember how I almost crushed you
Underfoot, trembling, crying — what cost.
I was born in your fire, blood anew.
I taught you to crawl and cry, you taught me
To burn, to fly; to mourn, to live again.
This mother once, with scattered heart debris;
Slowly, slowly, your scales and time did mend.
Time runs short — I hold you to my womb.
Farewell, sweet boy — your fire, I subsume.
