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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