Come walk with me.
Let's breach the bridge of years,
pluck each shaped stone of life
to hurl at stars
or hold as memory.
When I was small
the smell of you was safety.
The shape of your hands—
scarred with blood, bone and blessed Earth—
became my home as soon as held.
Your gallant rain-bowed figure,
became my beacon and my hope.
So dance, my Mother Courage,
come and dance,
for time is bending, braving out the wind.
Old age and I shall crown you queen of queens—
and cherish winter’s memories of spring