Mother and Child

In the dark forest, by a fresh ravine,
A mother cradles her child to her breast.
The child sleeps soundly, though the mother’s weep
Falls quietly, her heart heavy with grief.

She gazes at her child, fair and dear,
Her tear-filled eyes are fixed on his face.
“How wretched we are, my sweet one,” she sighs,
“To live in this world of sorrow and strife.”

She strokes his cheek, soft as a rose petal,
And kisses his brow with tender care.
“Sleep, my darling, sleep in peace,
For I will shield you from all harm.”

With her gentle touch, she eases his fears,
And in her embrace, he finds solace and rest.
For in the love of a mother’s heart,
There is strength and warmth beyond compare.

Though the world may be harsh and cruel,
A mother’s love will always endure.
So sleep, my child, in your mother’s arms,
For here you are safe, here you are loved.

Taras Shevchenko
Тарас Григорович Шевченко
(1814–1861)
Ukrainian poet, writer, artist, public and political figure, folklorist, and ethnographer.

Remember the reference to traditional Eastern European culture in last week’s photo essay? It makes more sense now, doesn’t it?

And now… know the photograph.