5 Minutes No Editing

Tempest turns within the eye
And marks those who move with it
Mark them by the turn of silvered key
And make them tremble in the wake of time

Circle the timbre of the rings of trees
O dryad of my soul
And wing through the shimmer
Of the language of trees

Hark my heart
And hearten silver tear
To ring around
The heat of my heart

Copyright/All Rights Reserved Audrey Howitt 2011


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