Thursday, 6 March 2014


The Season's Beginning,
The trees brightly bud,
Pushing forward; The Maiden,
Bears Fire in her elegant hands.
The fountains are flowing,
The Winterbourne rising
To wash the wet Meadows,
The lambs bleat their cries
To the sharp stars above.
Through bare branches
Flickers the light of the morning,
The noon blankets in iron-hued skies;
Clouds of stone above
As the moors mist down below.
Grain's promise keeps its whispering,
The blades sparkle in dew,
The attercop's nest is a tangle
Of silver and copper,
The ravens aloft are not at their rest,
They roam wide,
Observant believing,
Pilgrims forever,
In beggarbird guise.
Rowan crosses pinning our breasts,
And red rune berries
Encircle our souls,
Examine and reflect on right
Treasures held as goals.
Haste motivates,
Stillness measures,
Evaluation is in looking back,
But there is so much to do.
Her Holy Fire is guarded and eternal,
The rivers flow forever more,
There's barley for the brewing,
And sweet Poet-Songs in store!

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