The Blue Country

In the far Blue Country I see

hazy dewdrops on a yellow rose.

The blossom sprang

from the heart of a locust

struck by lightning;

I pricked my finger on its thorn.



From that element my magic spread,

seeping into chambers that reverberate

with bird song and the lullaby

of a breeze. Come

to this enchanted place

those vales of dark mist, white shadow

and time in the fringes of the mind.