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

Audrey Howitt Poetry, Alive and Well