Grace of Bounty
They sway with harvest moon of lemon gold
corn tresses brush a meadow, winding deep.
Light touches Celtic bonfire on soft night,
a sacred trance to usher new morn’s rise.
In throws of petals, lime, and herbs, they whirl
caressed by nature god within the breeze
as rounds of anklets flicker in throbs of dance,
where starry fragrance blooms in a rare chant.
And in the midst of prayers climbing high
the heated whispers speak in psalms... ray bursts.
Now holy fog and bright of moths, all's one
till clay meets fire in tender-blending eve.
Then gladness crown these ladies singing dreams
with heat so warm that drifts on faces...lit.
When silence only glows and yields the crops,
imbuing grace of bounty, food to share.
...............
Cornucopia Contest of Kai Michael Neumann
Repost 5/9/2020
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