- Mother's Heart, Wilful Childby LisaMay
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Coming home to find myself.
Mother's Heart, Wilful Child by LisaMay
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A motherless child, I’d grown up wild, 
and never expected much. I missed a tender touch.
Trapped in a box with rusty locks was how it felt, you see –
if I looked left or I looked right, ’twas all the same to me.
I needed a change to know life’s range; 
I felt I had to flee, to see some variety.

In day or night my only sight was endless shades of grey,
for I’d overlooked a precious Book and all it had to say.
My wilful heart went walkabout – to new dawns I was drawn.
But I left behind a love devout when I turned my back one morn.

I packed my car and went too far, beyond the reach of friends,
struggling along a twisty road, o’er rocks and rutted bends.
I travelled light but still I felt so heavily weighed down.
I carried such a mental load, my smile was a crooked frown.
What would become of me? Despair I could not shake free.
My food was boring, bland; my wilderness was sand.

I’d had enough – such living was tough;
I turned my life around and headed home.
Once through that door I never more would roam.
 But I saw again that all was dull and grey.
Then a shaft of light sent a bolt so bright my way on that day.
A Recipe Book lit up on the shelf – I grabbed it and did read.
And there I saw that, by myself, I still could well succeed.

To leaven my life, mix with spoon and knife; 
add spice, some rice, and something nice
to fish on a dish, stirring in some love,
with a pinch of this, and a dash of that. 
Then serve it up with a prayer above; 
break bread, enjoy some chat.

I now can whip up a tasty treat – one that a king could eat.
But celebrity I will not meet, my crowd will be ones like me –
the sad, the bad, the slightly mad; 
I want to make them glad, and set their sadness free.
For I’ve seen a bit of life and know that it’s chance and fate;
there’s no future in hate or moods of blue – now I can relate.

I took my skill to the street, to feed the ones with nothing to eat.
It’s simple fare, I am not rich, but I can play my part.
I will not let them die in a ditch – I have my mother’s heart.

My mum’s Bible was her Recipe Book and now it is mine too. 
Into it daily I now do look – it helps me know what to do.
To keep me on track, and fill what I lack,
the recipes are clear to see: ingredients are laid out for me.
I take their measure – some pain, some pleasure,
and now my life is fine. I found my own sunshine. 
Plain water turned to wine.




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