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Mother Earth . Mother Earth. Alexandra is a black township located near Johannesburg where the poet grew up- hence throughout the poem, he is referring to the place he lived, Alexandra. Poems on Earth – In our solar system, the world is the only place that mankind can peacefully occupy. back of the land. The Ballad Of Mother Earth | Original Poetry | The Curious Reader The rivers, seas and oceans She’s poured them into jars She’s lifted down the sun and moon and taken down the stars. Analysis Of The Poem Mother Earth By Henry Van Dyke Alfred, Lord Tennyson, ‘Move Eastward, Happy Earth’. Lastly, the earth ironically says she has seen much but … Poems on Earth that would Make you Appreciate its Existence. Earth endures and stars abide her plan. This poem gives a very strong, positive vibe about the love we should return to the Mother Earth. That trickles through my hands . The poem “Mother Earth” is a beautiful description of the earth as a mother of everything; it is the definition of a well written poem, and should be considered as “the best poem in the world.” Through the word choice of the poem, its main idea is love of nature, of earth, and the beauty of living on such an incredible planet. When Earth’s Last Picture Is Painted - Poem Analysis The grasses are working in the sun. Mother Earth I belong to this land It runs through my veins It’s the earth in my bones It’s the dry dusty plains It’s the whispering wind As she blows through the sand It’s the sparkling salt water That trickles through my hands It’s the feeling I get When I return to my place It’s deep down inside me It’s my Mother Earth space. Serote often addresses Alexandra as his mother, leading to the title of the poem. "Expostulation and Reply," William Wordsworth's reflection on nature's inherent wisdom, was first printed in Lyrical Ballads, his 1798 collaboration with Samuel Taylor Coleridge. The Poetry of Earth: Analysis | Beaming Notes This is really a very heart touching poem. Not one, not two, but three hurricanes out at sea, hundreds of miles from where I sit. She’s folded up the blankets, of lavender and moss,