Lammas

 
 
 
Loosening from light, long hazy days ebb golden.
Corn fields and buzz.
Early harvesters bless bread of Summer lore.
Cold is still a legend, a remembered song.
Soon enough we’ll be lulled,
huddled by ritual lamps for communal warmth.
Tonight, as twilight melts into familiar
constellations migrating like wandering tribes,
early harvest feeds celebration.
 
Regal old seer, wizard, holy prophet
rambles over rocky hillocks
toward noble Sun,
beseeches, sings, ululates.
Opening passage, veils, gates,
free to rove, frolic over ages.
A lonely infant cries awakening,
learning to be human.
Wondrous fantasies.
Disappointing realities.
I build my gingerbread castle.
Burn off bits as needed
in consolation.
Deep in the woods of childhood
every tree, every lizard, toad,
bramble of berries,
glamorous tragedies,
apparitions, adventure, romance.
I peer from the shadows of my own star.
Here I have purpose, lyric bard and audience.
Restorative rays hover behind, shine grace.
Swift arc of flame imagines space
out, far from grim, grey dawn
upon dawn.
Listen for enchanting pipes
of Pan to follow, drawn on
painted sky.
What was lost may be re-crafted.
Daring quests begun anew.
In a world of lads and lasses
hale and strong, brave and true.
Joined in conjure,
raise our glasses.
Do as we must do.
.
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