(no subject)

[quisirisa]

The Stag

Sun, rises on the land
And silently, he stalks the dew clad field;
Noon, whispers in the forest
And he comes to rest In the mid day heat;
Sunset, finds his breath a stream of mist,
As he calls to his Otherworld;
But midnight, finds his silhouette
Splayed across a frosty moon;
Darkest eyes, take in Her cold white light;
And she calls him to Her,
All too soon.

C. B. Palmer

happy solstice