In my tapestry of December days
many silver threads catch star-light
and gold skeins catches the soft-slipped
sunshine as it starts its winter slide.
Hope and tiredness elide in dreams
and nudge my inner eyes toward
renewal, following hibernation. I long
to see love in old friends’ eyes, even
as we tussle with our politics and ride
the waves of crazy stormings tides.
Stock still, on a rock, in our churning
river, a heron watches late-splashing salmon
and I learn: our Goddess lives amongst
us – even though I do not know her name.

Ceinwen E Cariad Haydon
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