My Poetry
Again, This
Aois Dana
A Bag of Spring
For A Wedding
Little Brother
Ostara - Mist and Wings
Rainy Day
Some Murdering Secret
Sun and Rain
What Comes of Wings
Little Brother
    He knows why I wrote this.
Brown eyes, in the trees
Shy, furtive motion,
Uncertain and hesitating
Will the wind knock him over this time?

My Little Brother
With his brown hair in his eyes
Peeking through the veil
Both shield and cage, aching to be gone.

Grey eyes, tempest-born
I am kin to the trees too,
But I have not the patient soul
And I dance in the flames

But out of the ashes come seedlings
And out of disaster comes wisdom
Shall I bring you rain and sunshine
To tend your heart's tree again?

I cannot do it for you,
But I will sit on the stone wall
And watch for eagles on the wind
And dryads dancing through the forest.

© Anne Cross, 1997

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Created: December 3, 1998
Last updated: December 17, 1998