Lady, I know things must pass.
But I want her back.
She who played in the woods and danced under the trees.
who lay and formed a circle on the ground, her body
with his body
perfectly reflecting the infinite Beloved.
She walked in Joy.
The ground was soft under her feet and her heart was light,
and she could dance with perfect ease
and trusted perfectly.
I know all things must pass.
The maiden’s innocence cannot last.
But must be ripped open to birth new life.
Ripped by betrayal, by doubt and disappointment.
Opened with the pain of
wondering whether she imagined all that perfect beauty.
For surely it could not just have melted with the daylight.
As it did
as it always does.
I know – it cannot last, any more than
a tree can stay in bloom all year.
The maiden ripens into mother,
and there shall be sacrifice and tears,
there shall be deeper joy, and wider purpose.
But I long for her, still.
Perhaps she dwells deep inside me,
hand in hand with the Grandmother to come.
Somewhere, she still dances, and still laughs
Somewhere I still have that
perfect trust, unbroken.
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