Solstice 2025
Sometimes
I have to wrestle
an angel 'til dawn
before the blessing
of pain amazes me
into acceptance:
I am as silvered
as the forest up on
the mountain --
My roots as favored
as those alongside--
just as deep,
just as needy, the
smallest filaments
standing straight up
to receive--
Despite the cake of
mud, the coldness
of stone --
Despite my grip of
earth’s crumbling
fineness --
the most intimate
beauty I know.
Published by
Martha T. Terrell
© Martha T. Terrell and WordShelter.com, 2018 - 2025. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this site’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Martha T. Terrell and WordShelter.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.
View all posts by Martha T. Terrell
WordShelter.com 