Rising Sap

Our infatuations enflame with the coming of the morn
Through the rising of the sap we herald the princess and her horn
Adrift upon wings of so strong emotion that we could bear
Upon them every creature that ever graced the ocean.

Impish natures, angel features
Each are moulded true to perfection.
One instance. One masterpiece.
Born of the Goddess’ hand?
Born of the blood that tamed this land?

The children play at standing still
Then dancing around their mothers hill
They await the time to kill.

poem by David Lacey
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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