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Poetry By
  Iryna Hall


Published on: 5/7/2015
Spring

Every spring I'm in love like in heat.
I am brushing my hair in my dungeon.
As I throw down my locks, I am plunging
Mortal men in the dust of my feet.

Every spring I inhale and conceive.
I am found with a heavenly belly,
And the round of my form must be telling
That I've got the whole world up my sleeve.

Every spring I am bursting with birth.
In my screams I'm deciphering summer.
And my nurse is a grumpy old farmer
With his hands in the womb of the earth.

Every spring I create, and begin
With reflecting my beauty in puddles.
I'm the owner, the queen, and the goddess
Of the sown, and the fresh, and the green.

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