The Calling (Rites of Spring)

Into the new day’s wake

The blue spirit’s dances

Faded

The poet’s head rises

His heart beats-up

To an inner calling

The Muse’s voice whispers

Her words though clear:

There’s still just time left for

Hands held entwined

The tender touching hearts

Minds already synced in

Love’s beginning dialogues

For renewing seasons

Like an early spring

Has entered a sacred space

Where love dwells in recluse

In the sparkling of her stars

Lucky present constellations

That the time has ripened

Like white flowers of almonds

And cherry tree blossoms

For the Rites of Spring.

RITES.SETIR

zoltanzelan

ZJG-POetry’20.

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