I love the sweet braid over the face of
the one who is polite to my romance .
She is the bright honesty of the fabled
early winds , those winds that arrive
before all wake – to make the true wind
know its path and so the true wind
places itself in perfection – she is like
these , like their bright honesty , the
early winds . And she is one of those
who know they are needed , she knows
she is valuable to I who follow , and
she knows she is valuable to all who
love her , for those who love the early
winds love the perfection of the grace
of creation .
And as the horses in this fable –
coloured we name them as the sands –
who run to be just where the fast
waters come , always before the stream waters
jewel and swell . . . . . . . . . . . .
It is as I watch these horses that I
watch her , I watch the sweet braid which
is over the face of the one who is polite
to my romance . And she is the bare and
light grey one , treading as though in
air , silently looking in the turn of now ,
to I in the star lain world . As in a greatly
pretty garden , and here is born a spark
. . . . . . and here is born a ribbon between
And I feel it , yet still I shall say it ,
. . . . . . . I love .
Book ‘A Place Called Rainseautear’ available athttps://www.smashwords.com/books/view/116991