November 9th, 1937 was my mother’s birthday. She was a true Scorpio.
All the passion of humankind drove her life. I am proud to have half of her genetic blend (the other half a Taurus) and be borne from a fiery womb.
Red is the chosen color of Scorpio and Pizazz is their style.
There once was a scorpion
who lived under a rock
who dreamed every night
that he was a hawk
in dreams he would soar
through the night's skies
searching the seas
for his most wanted prize
there was always a scorpion
who was truly a hawk
but at the end of each night
he would crawl under his rock
He would continue to do this
until he got his true wish
that someday he would catch
a lightning like fish
There will be a bird
who once was a hawk
who lived as a scorpion
under a rock
a bird so colorful
because he got his true wish
that one day he'd catch
a lightning like fish
With your mighty sting
And your body small but toxic
Like death itself
Little Scorpion,
Are you happy?
With your soft exoskeleton
And your blood that runs like fire,
Burning like Troy and the libraries of Alexandria,
Little Scorpion,
Are you happy?
Have the sands of the desert,
Ardent like the forge of Prometheus,
Burned your legs
And waged wars with your claws?
Have the dunes
Consumed you yet?
Little Scorpion,
Are you happy?
Happy Birthday Mom, Rest in Peace.
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