A Dawning Song
I am nestled in the tiny niche beside the Abbey Door,
wating for those who will come to see the dawn –
and have time to practice a song upon my Gusli
in preparation for Emmie’s birthday — no melody,
just a gentle strumming as in ancient times.
faucon
……………………………………………………..
I am but a drop of sparkling dew
on the tip of a trembling fern,
proof of the endless Source of all,
in a Song of Everbe.
For I am the breeze ‘neath the angel’s wings,
and the far whisper of lovers apart,
and as you m’love, a slip of memory.
Each brief gifted life feels my breath and Yours,
and they will recall the brief silent tears;
saying, “twas only a slip of memory!”
Don’t dance — fly — drift — cascade;
all to the tinkling of a single crystal chime
and an orchestra of ‘everbe’
and fine applause of laughing stars.
Oh, how to capture the caressing breeze;
dancing, gliding, entrancing spirit,
a dreamed hint of Myrdinn’s falcon wings,
whispered enchantment of EverSong.
I could share this past thrill
in many tales of the child within,
for memory needs no second chance
to create and nurture everbe.
You dance lightly in my thoughts;
a flutter of wings against my cheek;
a giggled breath to stir anew
the pulse of Spirit’s swing
above the Soul’s grasp.
To know life in fullness – grow to everbe;
you must live life and be alive right now,
reborn in brightly gifted dawn.
Then brave sieze the hand of Alcuin
and gather stardust in your pouch,
to heed the winds of everbe
to prance with fairies of wisdom
by the glow of the embers of now.
and loveswim in the Currents of everbe in awe;
they will beglide on stardust breath.
Behind their joyful, undulating spirit swing
will wave a wake of rainbow laughter,
seen by artists and mystics as angel wings.
What we create is joy-song in hearts and souls
of unknown strangers of quickened spirit
that will be-come to EverBe.


Papa, very nice. What poetry form is this, if any?
Trevere’ — I will explain off-list
Beautiful, faucon.
Vi
I love the concept of EverBe, the spirit of the poem and imagery that’s in some ways ephemeral. The technique, rhythmic flow…?