The Wind does not really need a name
when
Storm Clouds rise
Nor The Sea
gushing
Giant waves
against
Ancient Headlands
Even Trees felled
from
Deep Roots
need
No Epitaph
They share
Their Own Lament
Rivers Overflow their Banks
Plains become Lakes
The Land disordered
The Scale
on
A Constant increase
Autumn scratches Her Head
in
Dismay
Where to begin
settling
This deluge
of
Anarchic Rhythms
She feels
an
Enforced Labour
upon
A Sodden Earth
Wearied
The Sun The Moon
reassure
Her
Each Shorter Day
becoming
Her way forward
Steadying the delicate Balance
of
The Circle's ephemeral transitions
The Debris of Yesterday
nourishing
The Transformations
of
Today
The Winds of Change
sweep
Beyond Parameter..
Renewal
That Infinite Mystery
where
Life Abounds
A Seaon Turns
