Drink the Dew, she said…

Drink the dew, she said,

from the wild green fingers of grass.

There is held the whole of it:

the dark nectar of earth,

the blue songs of wind,

the fierce golden blades of spring sun.




About wrensong

I am a poet who collects stones. I am a wanderer of creek beds and forests, canyons and high desert who, coming home, sometimes finds words to tell the story. I am a companion with others in the search for Deep, Wild Soul. I shape containers in time and space for others to come together to write, to tell their stories, to hold each other in the telling. I am a grandmother and the companion of a cat named Alaya. I often travel out into open country with a man who calls himself Dunewalker who has hung his hammock in my heart.
This entry was posted in A River of Stones, dew, grass, Poetry, Spring, The River. Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to Drink the Dew, she said…

  1. Elaine Morris says:

    Beautiful, the eye of reflection.

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