No more than the bird with piercing voice
can cause the tree a swifter limb to grow,
can your cries move me to change my mind.
Though snake, with hiss both sibilant and low,
convince the flowing river to change its course,
and frog, with throat-inflating croak, turn
Winter’s mind to holding back the snow,
still will I not go against my nature so.
Cry however loud you will, but know
my ears are deafened by that decibel
and though your young heart yearns for this request,
the thing you seek from me I’ll not bestow -
a mother must needs do what she deems best -
my answer is and ever shall be no.
© by Pat Brisson.
Used with the author’s permission.