A ruby lord bows; his gilt cross whirs
to guide his realm that dwells in skies.
Mares part grey cloud; spires drift on wings
Man hails deep trance as domes kiss earth
and tribes of power choose hearts for light.
The holy sage carves a globe from pines
it pours rare salt by work of nymphs
who cure old pangs with dark, sweet grains.
A dog rose bleeds; thorns fall on palms
to aid the meek who face red storms.
No comments:
Post a Comment