A RIDDLE FOR POETRY DAY

A RIDDLE FOR POETRY DAY

Where am I?  And…who am I?

 

A pearl of great price set above a vale of gold,

There the quiet girl waits for you amongst her sheep.

To reach her you must pass through the wooden gates

Mysteriously missed by Henry’s men, into the inner holy place.

She gazes at the Tree of Life, its rainbow radiance

Mirrored in the meadows where she stands,

A flapper nymph and saint, cradling the sacred space.

 

Westwards lies the city where old scholars mapped the world

And three choirs sing at Lammastide,.

 

Here you are nothing,

Feel the chance, like her, to throw your fables in the fire

And go for broke,

This place is ever hidden, ever open

It smells of truth and of

Humility.

 

 

DSCF0001

 

Advertisements