As Twiglet Grows Away from Twig

and Sow Uncouples Suckling Pig,

The Sky as Orange as a Peel

Reminds of how The Sun Might Feel,

 

if through our Darker Hanging Night

a Pathway led as if a Rite,

To Drift us Gently to New Dawn

where we like Seasons be Reborn.

 

Oh, Bright Unfolding Future Days

We come to you by Many Ways,

But please don’t Ask of our Intent

For all we know is Where We Went.

 

It is The Tide at Moons Decree

That Lands us where-by chance we be,

There from to move again entranced

As Puppets in Our Earthly Dance.