Beltaine is near, time for some springtime poetry…
THE ELDER TREE
That’s the evening sun, which plays in me
Which peals like a bell with blue eyes.
Fairy-tale snakes that bask in the branches
Like golden green emeralds
And sound like distant flutes
At Beltaine.
You lay dreaming in my shadow,
My scent surrounded you,
But you did not understand me.
I caressed your curls, tickling your chin,
I played around your temple tenderly,
But you did not understand me.
Breath is my language
When love solemnly lights it.
Like sunbeams broke through the clouds,
The inner light in words, blossoming:
I poured gold around you, precious sparkling,
But you did not understand me.
That’s the evening sun, which plays with me,
You said, a springtime breeze and some birds,
Which sounds like bells, rustling blue rye.
Embers are my language when they ignite love,
I whispered softly to your heart,
But you did not understand me,
You didn’t understand me.
* * *
(c) 2020, Martin Dee, Nitramica Arts
