Poem: Tempest

Miranda, the Tempest, 1916
by John William Waterhouse
This morning the sky changed. Wind from a different
direction cast surprise upon and stirred up curiosity
Trees above sway to the song of Fall, make for a lovely dance to sing to
Below, wind combs threw underbrush, grabs the recently fallen,
blows them into whirlwinds
Northern Gale, breathe on me, release from me dead and dying parts
Twirl them up to the sky, lay them on the ground
Churn them into soil; all that death is good for
Compost for a garden I have yet to harvest
-Shannon Laws
Re mix of the 2011 poem “Winter Prayer”


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