Grey waters collide,
the advent of a goddess.
Her hair pours, golden, penetrating,
from the river of Hades' basin.
Wind caresses her,
letting loose her clay girdle
guiding her dress, brilliant, virisdescent,
upon her pure divan.
Long awaited, her voice weaves
together leaves upon
the silver willows come to life.
Grass hugs her as she paints
her heavenly canvas blue.
Laughing she dances,
drenched with starlit dew,
for only she knows where
she sent the clouds.
Birds are her harp,
wind her flute.
Her music she plays through
the haze of a warm afternoon,
Moss and lycan prepare her way,
coating her amaranthine heart,
ever young, ever holy,
restored by her moonlight lover,
to bring life to the decayed.
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