The
muscles of old millennia are flexed by hard stones,
In
passing ancient mountains, I hear as rocky tor moans,
Within
the waning sunlight, I see bones of autumn trees,
And veins
of praying leaves, when falling to their knees.
In
howling groves of winds, where once sweet breezes blew,
Within
the vortex of its throat, the tightening of taut sinew,
In the
plasma of old raindrops, the thudding of bold blood,
And upon hitting
gritty sand, converting into old black mud.
In blue breath
of soft breezes, the breathing of life´s lung,
As rain
turns to pain, where ancient songs, once were sung,
And upon
my passing windows, the scratching of hard nails,
Fingers
grasping at the warmth, with the falling of cruel hail.
The
bending trees hiding roots, of their icy cold-bound toes,
Beneath
the sock-warm earth, under sorry winter snows,
In
meltings of new spring, with the loosening of old sleet,
Tendons
of new plants shake their green & soggy wet feet.
Within
the waves of oceans & seas, kelp´s soft curling hair,
I hear
calling voices of selkies, upon the island´s sweet air,
And as I
walk with nature & look into her dulcet kind face,
Each
season turns round & round & disappears without trace.
Each
blade of grass, droplet of dew & small pebble has heart,
All, of
which everything in life plays its important small part,
Nothing
is separate, nothing is useless & everything is whole,
And within
the anatomy of nature, deep down there´s a soul.
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