Lammas
Loosening
from light, long hazy days ebb golden.
Corn fields
and buzz.
Early
harvesters bless bread of Summer lore.
Cold is
still a legend, a remembered song.
Soon enough
we'll be lulled,
huddled by
ritual lamps for communal warmth.
Tonight, as
twilight melts into familiar
constellations migrating like wandering tribes,
early
harvest feeds celebration.
Regal old
seer, wizard, holy prophet
rambles over
rocky hillocks
toward noble
Sun,
beseeches,
sings, ululates.
Opening
passage, veils, gates,
free to
rove, frolic over ages.
A lonely
infant cries awakening,
learning to
be human.
Wondrous
fantasies.
Disappointing realities.
I build my
gingerbread castle.
Burn off
bits as needed
in
consolation.
Deep in the
woods of childhood
every tree,
every lizard, toad,
bramble of
berries,
glamorous
tragedies,
apparitions,
adventure, romance.
I peer from
the shadows of my own star.
Here I have
purpose, lyric bard and audience.
Restorative
rays hover behind, shine grace.
Swift arc of
flame imagines space
out, far
from grim, grey dawn
upon
dawn.
Listen for
enchanting pipes
of Pan to
follow, drawn on
painted
sky.
What was
lost may be re-crafted.
Daring
quests begun anew.
In a world
of lads and lasses
hale and
strong, brave and true.
Joined in
conjure,
raise our
glasses.
Do as we
must do.
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