Days will walk down
A path covered in wildweeds
So it is impossible to see
Where they are going.
Behind the veil of your skin
Is the atmosphere of the past:
A laughing brook shaping
Grey hard rocks with
Torrents of rain on a leaning
Autumn canopy making
Leaves swim in nutritious graves.
And when night is coming
What will you do?
Will you wish upon burning
Meteors made into dust
By our home’s feverish skin?
Or will you cast aside the veil
And meet your wild self
Staring back at you
With softer eyes
You forgot were your own?
There is a sense of oldness in the air,
As though it has been impregnated
With tenderness, delicacy and wisdom.
Ghostly peaks, partially hidden
By knitted webs of thinning wedding veils,
Worn out by generations of stone cold brides,
Remind us of old newness and peaceful departings.
Spring’s forest school alumni,
Ready to embark on their virgin flight,
Darken the air with insecure strong-born wings.
There is the sound of rain falling into lakes
And souls slipping into sunsets,
As though leaves were attached to their backs.
And mornings to come,
With night-trees feeding on shadows
To part ways with the sun.
Every leaf has its throne,
In gold and blood a daring sun,
To sleep secure in violet crowns
And blow on storms with cotton-grass.
To gather birches in heavy clouds
And wither wings by moonlight’s guard
So peaks can dim and seize the snow
And draw their lines on greying stone.
* For more Nature Poems, click here: https://talesfromthefairies.wordpress.com/2016/09/30/pans-flute/