A Sacred Place

Past the forsaken meadows, 

Across from the libelous grotto, 

There in the clearing awaits

Your greatest heart's desire, 

entangled in whispering reeds and furrowed oak. 

The maiden laughing on the morning grass

flouts all that would woe her, 

And sooner would she suffer the touch of those

That would strangle, 

But preferring above all to cast herself headlong

Into the rushing torrents 

Of jagged things mixed with wildflowers that cozen

The bees in their mad flight