The Wheel Song
The call again at Avebury,
among the grassy rolling mounds,
sensuous stone surrounds.
We walked the path it leads,
chorused by laughing birds,
they gather swoop and swirl,
and watch our cloakes unfurl.
Mischievous one leads the song,
her pointy ears prick the air,
picking words to share,
with aching beauty long.
Sweet Goddess of the Stone,
sits prettily and not alone,
feels the beat of drum,
feels the heart the heat,
feels it pass through feet,
of all who walked before,
this place so hurt so sore.
Her lap is full of gifts,
the light has changed,
we glimpse through mist,
time gently shifts,
is hazy re-arranged.
The jackdaw's and the dust,
join our joyous gathering,
our silent prayer and trust,
are poured as tears,
with love not fear,
into the passages,
we hope will reach those dear.
The wheel of life we honour,
from child to crone we celebrate,
the fruit the seed is gathered,
and held caressed,
by emerald lady dressed. |
The dance the spiral spins,
Winter yearns with jealousy,
she want's that fruit for her own,
she wails 'I'm dying !'...... loudly.
Her icy claw grabs and flails,
as Spring gently slyly steals.
Held deep within her breast,
make sweet love with her your quest,
then in summers crumpled sheets,
lay sated lazy complete.
Ah! Beware !
For do you see leaf curl ?
No longer nubile girl,
wizened crone is calling,
now all around is brown and falling.
Ripe and rotting pear,
gobbled, puréed, to Northern bear.
Summer taunts and torments,
and not without lament,
the past tastes sweet and lingers,
or of something ? ...
something else on our fingers.
The wheel of life we honour,
from child to crone we celebrate,
and ask for in this hour,
peace in our souls,
not pain or hate.
Trish
21 Sept 2003
Written with love |
