Young in the old sense of time
The middle-aged priestess was marked
With red tattoos proving her efficacy
A wandering healer to the many
Small villages along the river
And to the distant mountain places
One time she brought back snow
And held it melting in her hand
Dripping into our dead sand
In the children she awakened
A strong desire to run away
And in the old she inspired
A stubbornness to stay
In my study of mummies
She's the one carrying the god
Her hair lofting in the breeze
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment