Shifting Shape
There’s fire in those eyes
Flames flicker from finger tips
Her voice is forged from thunder
She has such shapely hips
She’s not quick to anger
Still you do not want her scorn
Her’s is the soul of a warrior
Heaven sent not mortal born
She is the thing of legends
Impossible to understand
With subtle smile upon her lips
The sky she does command
You may call her nature
A mother to us all
Winter spring and summer
multicoloured in the fall.
Stare upon her beauty
Suckle at her breast
God’s offering from the heavens
Is she a curse or are we blessed?
Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2024
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