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Dancing like a firelit gypsy maiden,
Nature calls all to the feast.
Wearing skirts of red and ochre,
she holds the infant harvest on her hip,
And lips around a flask.
With new pressed grapes,
the red ambrosia of the Bacchanal,
she bids the peasant in us all to sing.
Then Sol Invictas sports among the trees.
His blown kisses moving ears of corn.
A morning promise now fulfilled in shadows;
As once again the Ancient Mysteries begin.
We drink from Mother Nature's Horn of plenty.
Till drunk, we see God's Hand upon the earth.
The birth of Faith encompassed in a wine glass.
The death of want seen in a loaf of bread..
Very enjoyable. I like the way you interwove metaphors, characters and allegory like one of my favourite paintings might do. There is lots of movement, descriptions and emotions sewn in a tapestry of deep spirituality.
You are a dab hand at this.
I never let good advice interfere with my plans.
I've always loved autumn so appreciate this.