Wander lust
She cannot find in looking,
dusts down these scarlet echoes unlived,
so out of steam, bereft and sold,
in a cage of ages etched in gold.
Plucked from a single straw,
the broomstick flinches close,
beats against the witching post.
Open the windows wide,
let the present wander in,
flood the walls in faery fire,
seek the things that will never tire.
We ring the leaves & bells tonight,
dare to dance barefoot wild,
this enigmatic moon beguiled.
Copyright Vickie Johnstone, July 7, 2024
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