Mariella Hunt's Blog, page 24

Leisure Time

Let’s sit in the Wood for hours.

All our tasks at home can wait.

I’ll point out the pretty flowers,

While you talk to me of fate.

My struggle, I must confess,

Is living life to a strict law:

Checking tasks off of a list,

Seeking a day without flaw.

The real flaw is to live in chains.

Beauty hides in this still place!

Sit with me, and if it rains,

A deluge we’ll embrace!

On Love

Let not your heart be parted

To be placed in strangers’ hands,

Because hearts are fragile;

They will break in loveless lands.

You’ll find out who loves you

When your heart they do not steal.

Seeing you become so frail,

They will help you heal.

If one day your heart insists

On care from someone new,

Be sure they will cherish it,

Remembering it’s you.

A Star

An old clock ticks;

It’s half-past one.

Above, a Star

Sees everyone.

The broken souls

On streets below

Have found no cure,

No place to go.

The old clock has

Not known a night

When Star has turned

Away her sight.

Stirred by pity

At human fright,

She breaks the fog

To shine her light.

Twirl

Twirl with me;

I’m dressed

As if I had died

Years ago.

Memories will

Wrap around us

Like rolls of

Fine silk.

You can never

Know for sure

Where our old waltz

Could go.

Wear your gloves

And we shall trot;

See the moon?

Pale as milk!

Twirl with me:

This music

Follows you

If you say no.

Grandmas

Great love helps a plant grow strong.

Her children can withstand the storms

Of life when tears become the song

And there is much to mourn.

Great love gives fire to a hearth

When winter nights are long and bleak.

She’s nurturing the growing earth,

Comforting the weak.

Great love—she’s an ocean wide,

The deepest and the warmest sea.

There are always hugs inside,

And they’re always free.

Forest is Dying

Evening’s colder.

The crickets are crying.

October nears, and

The forest is dying.

Birds in their companies

Far-away flying;

Trees shedding foliage—

Their forest is dying.

I’m in a fog, and

My spirit is sighing.

Where can I go where

My wood isn’t dying?

Shadows are stretching;

Perhaps I was lying.

Here I will stay, and

The forest is dying.

Flowers In My Hair

I wear flowers in my hair,

Even when they’re not in bloom.

Vining plants are everywhere,

Winding ‘round my room.

God made four seasons to be;

He is wise and he is fair.

Still, I look around and see

The Green is ever there.

Let me dream that things can stay,

Even after a farewell.

Then I can more easily say,

“So long—time will tell.”

Autumn does not mean a thing:

Forests spring up in my heart.

This dream I’ll keep nurturing,

Until I’m full of art.

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Resignation

Soft, persistent

Autumn air,

Bringing in the

Winter fair.

There is much

I must forget,

But the year’s

Not over yet.

Cool and smelling

Of a hearth.

Copper foliage

On the earth.

Fill my lungs

And soothe my soul;

Snow will come

And find me whole.

The Legend of the Blue Lady

She’ll pass through the wood

In her midnight-blue gown.

Always she visits

The sleepy old town.

Many have seen her

But none know her name.

She does not speak to them;

It’s all the same.

Folk say her weeping

Brings trees from the ground,

Tears like a river—

O! mournful, the sound.

A lad claimed she joined him

On a moonlit walk…

But he can’t describe her,

So how can he talk?

One thing is for certain,

She reigns in the night,

Pale as a moonbeam,

To some a great fright.

Good mothers tell children

Not to stay out late.

One doesn’t know

When the Lady doth wait.

“Come Sleep.”

The Sun is setting;

Roots of trees

Creep ‘round my

Tired bones.

All the Nymphs have

Bowed their heads—

The Daisy and

The Rose.

Calling me,

They ask for help—

Or ask for me

To come

With them to Sleep

Until the spring,

For they and I

Are one.