For the Wild Angelica in the Thistles

She’s here at last…
she is alone…
she feels that she is coming home.
Her spirit’s soaring carefree as she wanders.
along the hedgerows of Reenroe for

she’s found a peace she’s never known-
and she doesn’t care
just how much time she squanders.

she sees the swirls of cosmic grace-
she marvels at the heaven-made lace-
falling deep into a reverie of calmness.
she’s lost all sense of space and time-
she feels the hedgerow is divine-
as she melts into its sun-kissed silence.

She sees the tight-curled cases break-
each one unfurls and then creates
a crown of unimaginable splendour.
She sees white flowers fade and die
with no-one there to mourn or cry,

but the memory of it she will always savour.

She sees the glassy, silver down
fly from the gnarled and broken crown
and understands the cycle of these changes.

She’s heard the message of Reenroe’s lanes
That in nature nothing stays the same-
sees the beauty of the full-bloomed flowers receding.

She takes the seeds and sets them free-
to blow upon a gentle breeze-

and she takes the time to watch as they keep climbing.

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