The dark night of our souls is Solstice,
for winter's courtship with autumn divorces,
its manifold of amber and gold;
and all is concealed beneath a cloak of snow.
Fire has expelled it's last breath,
giving way to winter and it's death.
And, as I gaze across the silvery field,
no living things or life are revealed;
Yet the umber milk-blossoms are still exposed,
and splay their fairy wings as their pods unfold,
and burst from the white, innocence of snow.
In the silence of this day, I pause;
For, the musk of the rose doth not waft,
and quiet, are the bees and the wasp.
Other beings with gossamer wings,
have turned into unnatural things;
as the snow blankets the grass o'er field,
and I hear the distant church bells peal.
From light to dark, and dark to light;
The great god of Yule ignites a spark,
and the Goddess matriarch embarks
from perpetual day and endless night.
The sun and the moon collide in it's arc,
And from the sun, they take flight.
©Denise Goodwin, All Rights Reserved
***This entry is repeated from my poetry blog: https://moonspyre.blogspot.com/
Image credit - elephant journal