Witching the Stars #54
Updated: Oct 28
These grounds, for ages, parents walked,
and stewarded its gifts.
The autumn cold, the winter hoary
coats the broken Earth from where
their fires sprung, year after year.
And though the spring new budded be,
though blossoms crown the lofts,
a season new sends not to vapor
spirits, ancients, living, sending
whispers through the canopy.