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| The Rt. Reverend Loreon Vigne, Arch Priestess of Isis, 1932-2014/ Photo by the author |
Twilights come and nightshades fall,
The sky receives the raven’s call.
The blush of youth,
Burning in the morning’s light,
Matures as unfolds the heavy
Blanket of night.
All that ends begins again,
When morning returns
To let the light back in.
Sparkle, pulse, shine and glimmer,
Even at dusk when the lights
Grow dimmer.
The timid moth awaits her time,
With endeavor and faith she weaves.
To and fro, a home she does grow,
In damp green Earth and leaves.
A crow’s call pierces the starry night,
Beneath round face of alabaster light.
The rooster springs
When blue bird sings,
Another dawn, with life it brings.
The moth, so timid, whose colors wait to shine,
Prepares to disappear
Within the cocoon of time.
Gilded sun and silver moon,
Your lights they fade, like life,
Too soon.
But they come again, with the dawn,
Pulse and glimmer,
With fire and passion,
The colors they shimmer.
Whisper, shelter, gentle home,
She has hidden a secret
That blossoms alone.
Through nights of flaxen stars,
Days of burning color,
She transforms nature’s mettle to a form
Like no other.
Alone, inspiration grows,
But dazzles when colors reveal
What once hid a secret,
Has become open and real.
A lark on high heralds dawn’s reign,
The burst of new life
Awakens again.
Tears, sorrow and strife
Recede as the tides,
And timid cocoon bursts
With colors that fly.
Our star, our love, our golden wings flashing,
In time have risen,
Over seas and tides crashing.
Though twilights return,
And nightshades are drawn,
Always sings the triumphant sun,
Forever comes the dawn.
Lavender, purple, royal and free,
Your cocoon has revealed a secret in me!
That love is renewed
And eternal, it grows.
It sprouts its wings,
And nobody knows
When a soul shall be born
Or spring free in the sky,
For you, little moth, have become
Everyone’s butterfly.
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