Those days of
menarche moon & the virgin blooming & budding,
Now escaping with
meatus clouds, far off & long-gone scudding,
Vacuous nest now
left empty of sown, threshed & harvested seed,
Leaving only arid
land, lonely place for unwanted & unloved weed.
Life blood´s spume ebbing & with wasted saline
tear sadly flows,
Dries & with
ancient hollow winds of time, away from youth blows,
And disappears
to the dark side of that ageing & unforgiving moon,
Robbing from barren
womb, her history in the light of brilliant noon.
Sad lonely wolf
howls in the solemn dark shadows as dusk encroaches,
The maid gets
lost in youth as the mother of marching time approaches,
With pausing of
the meno, the sanguine old mother dries & slowly dies,
And within the
winds of her passing mind, the old crone deeply sighs.
No comments:
Post a Comment