Untitled:

The night is cool

A breeze stirs the trees

Their heads bent close, they whisper

Once a woman knew the secrets

Nature holds sacred

But the forbidden knowledge and sin

Made us forget

What great gift the tree's fruit took from us

The forests still weep for our loss

The stars flicker down with a cold clarity

They seem to be mans eternal glory

And enlightenment thrown up into the distant sky

Theirs is a sublime and subtle power

The waves are quiet and small

The moon has waned

Pulling behind it the worshipful bulge of the tide

Fish shimmer in the shallows

Scales picked out in silver by the last

Of the starlight

The sun climbs to her zenith

Her light is fiery and dazzling

Her heat fierce and punishing

The stillness is shattered by insects

Which zip around and fill the turgid air

With buzzing and scraping

The trees hang with their heads bent low

Bearing the brunt of the blaze from the sun

They do not talk, but can only moan in

Submission to the harsh power of the sun