A wayra sequence from the Oracle has nothing but hope this morning.
Mother mist rises
Mother mist rises,
enfolds in her gentle arms
purple night shadows, brushing
with changing light, sun hues
and the golden taste of morning.
Cold death slinks away,
drawn by the sunken moon,
lured by music, siren-sung,
beyond the horizon,
sparkling now with molten frost drops.
Roses rimed in frost,
their honey drips slow and sweet,
melting like the damp darkness
beneath tree shade, dark-boughed,
and I recall their summer scent.
Jane Dougherty Writes 
Wow!!!!
“Cold death slinks away,
drawn by the sunken moon,”
“Roses rimed in frost,
their honey drips slow and sweet,
melting like the damp darkness”
My favourite lines. 🙂
Thank you! I’m pleased you like it. The wayra form is a good one, I think.
You are welcome. 🙂
This is so beautiful, Jane!
We had the same idea (weird!😀) but yours is gorgeous!
Thank you 🙂 Moons like Kerfe’s too. And the siren slipped in to say hello from your VV poem.
Oh–I hadn’t even thought of that! 😀
There are always lots of elements we don’t notice at first. The Oracle weaves intricate cloth!
Such crystalized images, radiating light! Yes, beautiful.
The Oracle knows winter and this world are weighing on our minds. (K)
Thanks. She does, and she’s right to remind us that it’s a process, not a halt. The growing never stops.
You paint with words, Jane.
I try. I paint better with words than with paints.
You are a very accomplished word painter. 🙂
It’s kind of you to say so 🙂
Such a beautiful poem!
Thank you 🙂
great ❤️❤️
Thanks 🙂
❤️