invocations
1.
Where are my companions
of the sacred grove?
Twenty two
fasten the thicket
wherein shelters the white hind,
beneath the wild apple
tree of immortality, through wisdom.
The maiden only touches
and stills the tremor of his stance,
She, being wisdom herself.
2.
See the three shrouded women
at rest amongst the willows,
above, the cranes fly
forming sounds in silent flight.
The sky belongs to the young man
with winged heals
and yet, concealed, the wierd of word
escapes his realm of stealth.
The crescent moon only
beholds these old secrets.
3.
Midsummer days of burning oak
and stringent smoke on laboured breath
brings mercy from the soil
where toil rewards, and blessings yet remain.
But who knows the ways of the sun
and where she sets, or when?
Should we flee as the fast spear
whose tears gather our sadness?
Or light the evening earth, only
remembering dawns eternal lust.
Jane M.Judge