'Walk' by Lynda McMahon

 

You walk towards your land. Your hand holds a young boy’s. You know who blows cold upon a bold soul; who now bows down; who shows darkly. Your hand, cold, clasps hard and wards off your son’s cool kahuna who’s four forms: lynx, swallow, dragon, frog, hold on. Carry on! Your land’s upon you. Stay! Watch  hours go by. Your land can colour your days. Your soul and your son’s soul can hold hands upon  gold and rock. Go forward. Lay down your walk