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Hamadryad
All within the taiga glade,
Their raiments gilt in comely shades,
The burgess shrives vagrant souls.
A garth of god for men alow.
Whereinto the roots may grow,
We wayfarers may never know,
For we waltz twixt sky and earth-
Domain of beast and realm of birds.
The elders of the greenwood lie,
On earth when once they kissed the sky,
And glowered at the rover’s romp,
Through lodgings filled with trunk and stump.
Or shrove to lonesome wretched wights,
Flying from their fearsome frights;
Seeking presence with burgesses,
Of taiga glade, the earth, the trees.
But now they lie upon the ground,
Now shod their garb, and lost their crowns,
Ne’er again will readorn,
Unlike their kin who stand and mourn.
We pass into the land of love,
For pleasant autumn leaves above;
To revel or repent alone,
To contemplate or to atone?
Copyright ©
Davis Mills
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