At the border of the forest.
Where the shadow meets the day,
In the space - of the phase,
In which blades, of extra tall grass,
Lean gently over, into -
And are scorched by the lack of light.
Where the roots of the trees,
Reach from their soily caskets,
And Fray. In the atmosphere,
Which blankets the meadow,
Miraging fae in the mirrors' embrace,
The crossroads of eternity.
In which right ways twist,
And wrong ways hiss,
Like serpents, in the wind.
Dandelion seed, spin!
Watch on old wild cat,
Matter not, that it blows,
Over. Into the forest,
Across the boundary,
Where unfortunately,
It will have a lot of trouble to grow.
Rowan Blair Colver
Where the shadow meets the day,
In the space - of the phase,
In which blades, of extra tall grass,
Lean gently over, into -
And are scorched by the lack of light.
Where the roots of the trees,
Reach from their soily caskets,
And Fray. In the atmosphere,
Which blankets the meadow,
Miraging fae in the mirrors' embrace,
The crossroads of eternity.
In which right ways twist,
And wrong ways hiss,
Like serpents, in the wind.
Dandelion seed, spin!
Watch on old wild cat,
Matter not, that it blows,
Over. Into the forest,
Across the boundary,
Where unfortunately,
It will have a lot of trouble to grow.
Rowan Blair Colver
