Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Springtime Song for The Graces
T’was on the distant mountain
Past the gate of The Three Graces
Where the wild forsythia blooms,
An old crone sat
On a green mossy stone
Contemplating the phase of the moon.
“Tis the time”, thought the crone,
As she reached for her spade,
“I will turn the ground now to prepare.”
And she went to the field
Sprouting green with new grass
And dug three holes with great care.
“In the hole to the North,”
Said the crone with much glee,
“The seeds of Earth’s Joy I shall plant”,
And she sang and she danced
As she banged on her drum
Thus infusing the seeds with intent.
In the holes to the South
She put seedlings of Charm
And next to that Beauty, you see?
The seedlings would grow
To be great spreading trees
Guarding gates of creativity.
The Three Graces are they,
A siren’s song
Three ships on a bonnie green sea,
Dancing bare in the snow
Or on moonlit bright nights
Unbridled they swing, they are free.
I can hear the crone’s laugh
Whistling up the through the hills
By the light of the Beltane Moon,
As The Graces they dance
To the May breeze call
And the peacock's song echos the tune.