Valentine

14 February, 2013

For What I Am

Morning cold dampness, lying low over frozen soil Mother earth still, quiet in the icy clamb of winters claws the second month, when dark spirits are fought and scared with wooden masks this day, special, the day of Pan kissing sweetly his flute, calling for love to kindle the fires of fertility and nature, to arise from her drunken sleep to airbrush the bleak canvas with fragranced hues The whisper of time, blowing through the trees it touched your soul and my heart you, so gentle, fragile, and yet so strong you think you are not known but your spirit went in front for I knew you before I knew me for both we stood, in some time past the shallow pasture stream, softly flowing around our limbs, though our limbs and subtle, although sharp as a hunter’s knife and blunt as a caveman’s axe carving it’s way through my weathered bracken

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