In the beginning

Here’s my take on a winged horse poem

Cloud piles above and beneath her
The dust of a broken world
White wings plough desert-brown furrows
And the banners of hope are unfurled
Green and gold are her colours
The emblems of life and the sun
But their brightness is hidden, uncertain
Until the battle for freedom be won.
She offers her tears to the darkness
She offers what she holds most dear
And the memories pour out to guide her
And tears fall to wash the way clear.
Apple and yew trees will flourish
And raise laden boughs to the sky
The wind whispers words of cold comfort
To the mother whose heart has to die.

Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

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