What I felt when I found this Blog
Stumbling through rich thickets,
a woven moss carpet gives way
to light
Here is our clearing
Our stone circle
fringed, not with ancient grey slabs,
but with words
Home of unicorns
Where voices rise cacophonous
Soundless tales of women
unbent
Our lives a force
Which cannot be spent
A chorus
of throw your hands to the sky
and
Dance
Madeline Tinson
What I felt when I found this Blog
Stumbling through rich thickets,
a woven moss carpet gives way
to light
Here is our clearing
Our stone circle
fringed, not with ancient grey slabs,
but with words
Home of unicorns
Where voices rise cacophonous
Soundless tales of women
unbent
Our lives a force
Which cannot be spent
A chorus
of throw your hands to the sky
and
Dance
Madeline Tinson
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