Saturday, August 11, 2007

This Dappled Morning

The far field
dazzles with the hawkweed,
yellow, festive,
and the sheep
has eaten all the
tasty blossoms around her.
Shadows of swallows
slide over the long grass
golden beneath the rowan
whose berries swell in
crimson clusters on the bough.
I feel as solitary
and prickly as a thistle,
this dappled morning,
as I lean on the cold iron of the anvil.
The bronze knitting needles I have made
are golden bright from the rouge,
and lie on the work bench
waiting to be sent
all over the planet.
I can see them go
like the many shadows of birds
flying out, away,
to land in a pair of hands.
Hands that will draw to them yarn,
like the wool of my sheep,
distilled from a field of yellow flowers.
Hands that will draw to them patterns,
like the rowan now growing,
its grey branches knitted to the blue of the sky,
its berries, red within green,
celebrating magic, utility, motion, and beauty.

Molly Swan-Sheeran copyright 2007
Read more of my poems? http://celticswan.com/poems.htm

1 comment:

spinndiva said...

oh.... beautiful!