How fortunate I am to have a warm/ Still center 'round which everything can spin;/ A wisdom I can call on from within;/ A place where I can shelter from the storm./ And I know how to love. I have a form/ For virtue. My heart's not of tin/ But soft strong flesh. I can see where I've been/ And where I'm going, how to return home./ A kingdom wouldn't buy one of these gifts/ And yet I have them all -- what power lifts/ My heart up to the sun, what root can feed/ My spirit even in an hour of need?/ Your love's the root. Your wisdom is the weather,/ And all my strengths grow green from you, my mother.// From Bethica for Mummy -- May 2003