The Goddess

The Goddess
by William Wynne

I knew you when I was seven,
As I lay out
Petting grass,
Like Earth fur,
Gulping moonlight
In the starry explosion of
A Texas summer.

I knew you when I was seventeen,
Running alone
Beside a gasping stream
Beneath tiny leaves that
Tickled silvery radiance.
Silenced
By your grace.

I knew you when I was twenty-seven,
I had slipped away
From a campfire
Traveled through the years,
Friends laughing behind me.
You were there,
Had always been there.

When I was thirty-seven,
I nearly forgot you.
My job, you know.
My family.
Time seemed short,
But you called
Until I came out.

Suddenly I was forty-seven,
A troubled number,
Ravaged and patient.
I cried to you,
Offered my soul,
You accepted …
You called me child.

At fifty-seven … so soon.
We speak more often,
But use fewer words.
Is that your mind
I hear inside my own?
I grow crazy
With happiness.

When I was sixty-seven, you waited for me
On the moonwashed hilltop.
I walked there,
A silvered veteran
Of moments.
I lay back gladly in your arms
Filled with summer.

 

WILLIAM WYNNE is a Celtic Pagan poet whose work appears regularly at www.paganvisions.com .

This poem originally appeared in Witches&Pagans #23 - Law and Chaos


 

Tags: poem, wp-23

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