Lord of life,
of green and colour,
of breeze and light.
Lord of bluebell and butterfly,
of birdsong and birds' flight.

Lord of space to think,
of time to rest.
Lord of movement,
of stillness.

I sit here and I confess
complete adoration,
my sunshine celebration
of this, your full spectrum,
this rainbow-wide gifted creation.

I sit and give thanks
for this sustained life,
of greens and blues in yellow light,
of fresh composed songscape,
of this colour full to the brim escape,
this God given land and sky-scape.

I thank you, Lord, for this gateway,
this fresh every morning,
gifted new day.

soak into death    be a sot to it   you enemy of love
sponge and earth and thaw
breakdown into smaller and smaller particulates
and become involved in the sop
rejoin life

hammer and the tongues of gods
the meat of our play
     breaks all membrane restriction
        an explosive pushing out of our ***

Curling buds,
Growing Moisture,
Fertility hops to.
Eostre watches;
Sprigs peek out,
Leaves spring gently
Into Existence.

Cernunnos
Is invoked, and
Brings life forth.
The old hag
Succumbs to
The horned
Man.

Her
Cold heart
Warms to
A gently
Breeze,
And brings
Blood to
Life.

Spring comes
And I find myself fond of fall.
Summer dawns
And I admire more winter.
Fall arrives
And I cherish spring newly.
Winter blossoms
And I appreciate summer more clearly.

Your crew socks pushed down to your ankles
and a laugh further down your throat
a light April breeze in the mess of your hair
it tangles
and teases as it blows.

it's easy to say time heals all wounds,
when every barren branch blooms again in spring,
when every new chick is taken under a safe wing.

but time is yet to wake me from my eternal winter sleep.

i still lay, unmoving, in my barren keep.

even bears leave me behind,
a permanent fixture in their den,
"maybe time will wake him next spring,"
they say, now and then.

the forest whispers above my head,
calling to the last absentee,
but i am no tree,
and spring does not speak to me.