The Red Salon - Quietus

Tuesday, 07 September 2010

Quietus

A winter weft of branches,
laden thick with snow.
The sky, pristine as e'er it were,
embraces hill and hollow.

There, a fallen evergreen
some fifty feet below,
and there, a clumsy hoof of fawn;
a graceful glide of doe.

Harp strings pluck a melody,
solemn yet serene;
the notes descend as floating snow
on winter's silent scene.

Enter Brigid, laced in white:
Lustration to the land!
The quietus of wisdom waits
with seeds of spring in hand.

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