Her Cretan Axe Poem by Steve Trimmer
Her Cretan Axe
A bantling carrys She
In it`s nascent form
Mother, She to be
Progenitor, of this soul reborn
With feyness, form She changes
Thence, as Love to be
The Swain, She rearranges
From flotslam of the sea
Now, She wizened Crone
Lead thee, by Her lodestar
A cocophany of tone
In disquiet fen of mire
The Swain, he now of age
Scotoma now in tact
Fain, he smiles, at his Banshee`s gaze
As She wields Her Cretan Axe
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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4/24/2024 10:00:03 AM # 1.0.0.1119
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