The dew hangs from the heavy trees,
pulling them closer to their Mother,
the old Earth
of love and roots,
soil and Sun.
I found her ashamed, asleep
upon the coals, bed-ridden,
fictitious in her agony,
for Skies were representative
of pain for the poor girl.
‘My love,’ I said, ‘I am wealthy
in my Eyes. I am possessed of
the Heavens and Beyond
in these images of heart,
these dreams of my Soul.’
Though the vapours had entwined themselves
around her, obscuring her body,
obfuscating, discerning us both
as separately together, I knew that Time
would wreak upon her verdant Soul
that flaming wisdom of the seldom-prodded hearth,
no, the truth of the Elixir,
window into the Abyss,
Knowledge out of pain.