Gnarled face in knot of wood
Stares back through wall of time
The lines of which unravel
Revealing strength of face
I would follow into the polished wood
And imprisoned world of spirits there
Where gods once walked in natural forms
As white horse emerging from morning mist
Or wolf plucking dewberries with gentle fangs
But the wild wood hewn
Can only compel my gaze
And whisper to me now.
This is wonderful. Makes me think of old Celtic tales.
ReplyDeleteYour poems are captivating. I must read on.
ReplyDeleteGratefully,
Diane
I love the imagery in this poem - especially the wolf gently nibbling on berries..........just stopped by to see how you're doing. Havent heard from you for a while and you are missed! Hope all is well.
ReplyDeleteHey kiddo, how are you? you are missed!!!! Hope all is well. Wanted to let you know am thinking of you on your wonderful land with your beautiful family.
ReplyDelete