Root and Rose

 

Cold moon grows,

frost falls

leaves brown and wither,

‘Rest,’ seed says,

‘like root and rose,

in the deep dark.’

 

 

Rose,

brown after blooming,

cold air murmurs,

‘Frost comes,’

Only rock and tendril,

stone and berry

breathe the sacred cycle.

 

 

Ancient is the breeze

that murmurs on the lake,

lonely the dark watches

of no moon.

Let peace rain

in bright rivers,

soon winter will follow.