In the well of understanding

In the well of understanding

Monday, May 14, 2012

My Lady Has A Necklace

Inspired by Diana Wynne, a Lady of rare wit, intellect, and emotional fortitude

'Twas in the garden of friendly delights
My Lady, the Huntress, came in summer's allure;
She, who girds the Earth from her lunar abode,
Bestrode the path to the African's lair,
Darkling boots chased with fire crackling,
Each step whispering silver on verdant plane,
Bright day caressed by sinuous night

With horn upturned, My Lady, summoned with song
And I hastened to attend from my starry perch
For I yet bore the fruits of country in tribute
To her personage and fealty to her honor-
Apples of elder wisdom, oranges of blushing passion,
Resplendent pears of tart desire, purple plums of supple strength;
Her bounty near its' fullest measure in all graces save one

Longing and anticipation equally combated and
Animated her lithe glide as she sought the arbor of Love's priest
And I danced in her shadow, following on heel,
Blessing the flowers of field and larks of the meadows
Until at length we arrived at the mouth of hallowed grove
An unseen gong bellowed a welcoming call
And we entered into audience with the kindred soul within

My Lady was shown a multitude of wonders
A menagerie of assorted pleasures, but her heart
Sifted through the flour of gloss, seeking intently
Settling upon the glassy luminous stones of a sister Goddess
A gold-tipped arrow fletched, and the auric gleam upon her brow;
The music of one hunt enchanting the roving spirit of Huntress,
And a breathtaking stag of the purest yellow crept in range of her bow

Faster than a heart can beat, My Lady was in pursuit
She negotiated the terrain as the cleric shouted encouragement,
Notched the arrow of her Will, and aimed, fire alight with her skin
Ignoring blandishments of other colorful prey, she loosed the shaft
Which blazed towards the heart of the stag and struck true
And the Lady, with mercy, chanted the dirge of Ending
Transforming carcass and bone into the trophy of spoils

As was her want, she gifted the remains to the priest
And bade him work his craft upon the stones and bones
With soul and sinew he bound the elements
With heat and light he wrote the runes
The African called to witness Wind, Water and chthonic spirits of Earth
Birthing with his labors the scintillating Brisingamen
And by her divine leave clasping it around My Lady's curvaceous neck