Nature is an indifferent mother, I say
dutiful at best, she does what is required,
but not with tenderness.
That is a lie, you insist—
many animals practice nurturance,
play, camaraderie of a sort,
and choral singing besides.
Whales write new songs for every season,
every task and journey.
This is what you taught me.
Well what else is there to do
in the deep but practice the chords of heaven
through great fortresses of herring,
rock to the gentle hula
of the sea, make love like two spaceships
docking, teach strange iceblue songs
to your little calf, tease ocean liners
as they sludge past your easy grace
with motors and trouble?
© Nancy A. Henry (1998)