What is your weather?
So delicate and sure
Sentinal of harvest.
What once glowed gold
Now delicately so tender,
Brown and wilted;
Seeds like rain
Fall from your mane
In one breath of wind
Shaken your stand.
Of all the ancient history
Stored in your very seed,
How does each season
Keep bringing you to me?
So that our fields can grow
Yellow in the fond sun,
So that our vase can be
Filled up with royal thee.
From there I watched her on her horse
(I watched her trot around)
So deeply connected I knew I saw
Trust understanding more.
It was an outcrop
In the mountainside;
A landscape so proud,
So rocky and full of trees
That made each step a wonder of
Landscape yet unseen.
My eager eyes
That watched her go
They called after her then,
For one day we dreamed would be
The day she’d come to me.
Through the trees
She came and went
Beyond and within my sight,
Until, sweat upon her mane,
She rested at a pond
That croaked and chirped and gurgled too
Just as night’s crickets do,
And then at once
Off she went
A horse and she who knew.
Shake the pistol at my mane
Lord help those who shame
For a gospel bell has struck gold
And the crowd is letting out.
Gone are the busy days
Lost into the wind and rain
Leaves have let down their shine
And blankets freezing again.
Sitting alone by the fire
Running down my back
Washed away my innocence
And now’s my closing song.