Come, dance, my child, the day is young;
Greeteth the moon, the stars and sun.
Lay bare thy feet upon the ground;
Don merry bells and floral crowns.
Set loose your songs of emerald green,
Of crimson skies and sapphire seas,
Of meadows ripe and rivers vast,
Of fables woven of the past.
Rise up, rise up from whence ye be;
The prancing embers beckon thee.
Set tresses wild and spirits high;
The sun commands thy soul to fly.
As maidens dance with hands a-wed;
Lift up thy cup above thy head.
The longest day shalt mark a feast
Of what hath passed and what may be.
With rolling drums and crowing men,
All hail the sun! Our Providence.
May troubles melteth to the breeze
And be replaced with jollity.
Praise be ye lore of better days;
Praise be the Earth, her fruits and grain.
Praise be the moon, the stars and sun.
May summer blesseth everyone!
Amelia Dashwood © 2017, All Rights Reserved
Sweet guardians of nature, attendeth my soul,
when sorrows like tempests torment me;
and all will be clearer whatever the toll
as thou hushes the demons that vex me.
© 2017 Amelia Dashwood, All rights reserved.
~Ye Path of Yore~
‘Neath the jewels of crescent moonbeams
Cunning witches softly play
Stirring vessels of old wisdom
As the darkness steals away
Twisted sheafs and rose-hipped sonnets
Lilac moons and inky rooks
Stimulate their sylvan spirits
By the leaves of timeless books
Solitude and Mother Nature
Cloak them on ye path of yore
As they dance the jig of living
Bound to Nature ever more
Upon the sight of day-blind stars
Dear sisters gracefully unfurl
To fill the hours of their solace
Brightening a blackened world
And those who walk the path in secret
Recognise the cunning lore
Returning nods of high approval
As they walk ye path of yore
© 2017 Dashwood, All rights reserved.
Ye olden days are dying fast and with them so is pleasure; for endless work and little play make liberty a treasure. What must man do if all he builds are someone else’s dreams? How will he live if all he earns is seized by crooks and thieves?
Gone are the days of honesty, the days of truth and fairness; life rushes at the speed of light, and freedom is a rareness. While crooks and blaggards rest a while, the grafters lose an age. For what? A life of stolen days and insufficient wages.
As I grow old with silver roots, I wish for better days, where fairness and morality drive man to mend his ways. May every child born to the world know of a person’s worth and value every soul that breathes upon this precious Earth.
© 2016 Amelia Dashwood, All rights reserved.
Image: Tasha Tudor, artist unknown.