Son of a Beekeeper and a Housewife

The mare, his mother,

Stands her ground beside her foal.

He drinks from a stream.

~ Issa

[Englished by Phillip Whidden]

Like me you probably remember days

On end, clean decades by your childhood’s stream

When all was clear, not even touched by haze

Of life because of mother.  In a dream

Perhaps some nights you had a nightmare she

Could not protect against, but otherwise

Your rivulet was more a reverie

Of crystal flowing as your mother’s eyes

Looked all around for evils lurking near,

Too near.  Your father held you on his lap

And told you make believes omitting fear

Until you slumbered on his chest, your nap.

  This wasn’t false.  Their loving ways were true.

    Your parents made the stings of life taboo.

© Phillip Whidden