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Wednesday, December 21, 2016


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