She arrives softly, as if by magic &
gently appearing,
Just a slip of a maid, behind clouds, peeping
& peering,
Her delicate toes shod, in mere slippers of
filigreed lace,
Shyly reluctant
to show her sweet, young & innocent face.
Expectant & resplendent,
in her full-blown & pregnant gown,
Wooed by old stars
& night by night, her soft stripping down,
Her raiment’s of
moonbeams, un-stitched, seam by satin seam,
While we, mere
mortals below, in creamy arms, deem to dream.
From pretty maid she
was, caring mother & lastly wise old crone,
From weaving &
waxing & now, time to wane her way back home,
By dint of sun´s lure
& his impatient & wicked, barefaced peeping,
Away she drifts, from
his eyes, into the skies of heaven´s keeping.
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