Celtic Legend by Eliza Witte - HTML preview
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The Sphere
The sphere…
The sphere, which was a crystal, A crystal, holding the thoughts, Holding the salt of the tears, The waterfall’s power, the blissful Silence of the eyes that ought To be blaming.
The taming
Of the feather’s dance in the wind, Of the energy in the warmth of the palm, Of the run of the indocile years, Of the rhymes in the heads of the lindens Of the sea – endless and calm…
This is all caught in the sphere.
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The Lily Of The Valley The lily of the valley and the silence…
My soul has run away.
Light in beautiful whiteness
Took course to the sun of the day.
There, my most precious lyrics Went to visit the lake Where the purest feeling
Beside that lily was safe.
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