Ostara

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Ostara

Once was
His
under the hedge
Once was flowering
Once was the white blacks
Of the avocets once was
Once was queen, queenly
He said
Deposed, he said
Dead.

Never ever listen,
She said
Walking on one leg-
Although, do listen
To the frogs down the lane,
The efflorescence of the chestnuts
Dropping pink chips of dog-dust
On lovers’ heads
Oh how I missed you
Undoing feeling
Better off forest gone

Need will keep needling
Till then weave hawthorn
Croon, crowning
The self.

 

Drawing  ‘Ostara’ by Veronica Aldous

poem and art all rights reserved 2018

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