Where goes my Soul
Carrying the thorns in my Heart
To the Garden, sowing all that is apart
Awaiting the return of
Cleanse renewed sprouts.
Moving with lighter Self steps
Yonder the mist up the incline
Behold! A Magnificent Golden Willow
Upon which a Perfect Morning Dove.
The wings seen through the mist
Recalls a sudden shift
On the eve of sprouting seeds
Together they will be no longer concealed.
In the cascade of the Willow tree
The Dove fluttering with melodious glee
Proudly communicating my venue
To all who celebrate above and below.
Proud to be the Self
Feast of musical fluttering wings
There under the Golden Willow
I will surrender for the morrow.
Hélène Vaillant © – Poems