‘I wander by the edge
Of this desolate lake
Where wind cries in the sedge:’ —W.B. Yeats
I have lazed for hours upon long hours
under cascading veils of willow tresses,
sipped sweet tea, beneath magnolias shaded,
contemplating dogwood’s pale bloody blooms
sometimes when it’s raining golden whirligigs
I close my eyes, and breathe amidst the flutter
imagining the thrill of falling, flying
a carefree, swirling dervish on the breeze
I have danced on tiptoes through bristled sedge groves
on tender shoeless feet, barbed nettles nipping,
to dip my soul in swelling, brackish wetness
with the gleaming shards of shoals ebbing
oh there are days I wish that I was fluent
in oaken-speak, in maple or mimosa
what wise time-measured wisdom I’d be gleaning
from rooted ancients practiced in surrend’ring
~kat
The pigs are are being tended to and my maddening angst is waning, at long last! And so, a meander to the brink for Jane Dougherty’s ‘A Month with Yeats’ – Day Twenty-Two inspired by the verse above from his poem, ‘He Hears the Cry of the Sedge’.
November 22nd, 2017 at 3:17 pm
My favourite of yours so far, Kat. Pure delight 🙂
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November 22nd, 2017 at 4:06 pm
Thank you Jane. 😊
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November 22nd, 2017 at 4:25 pm
🙂
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November 23rd, 2017 at 1:46 am
Oh, I like this. You don’t forget the scratchy side of nature but still make it beautiful. Nicely balanced.
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November 23rd, 2017 at 10:07 am
Thank you Sarah! 😊
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November 23rd, 2017 at 12:58 pm
Brava.. 😎😎😎😎😎🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀
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November 23rd, 2017 at 3:28 pm
Thank you Dorna!
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