The Wheel

Sweet smell of death,
The silent breath,
Of carrion crow
And spider’s web,
Of darkest moon
And witch’s Queen,
And owl that flies
With sight –
Of crumbling earth
And mildew stone,
Of grave
And coffin
And open tomb,
All breathes life
Upon the earth,
Yet must return
To the place of birth.

Sweet smell of death,
Of blood and rain,
The turning wheel
Must turn again,
The moon,
The tides,
The trees,
All fade,
Yet through descent
They are raised,
Through their death
They are born,
Like the rising sun
Above the corn,
For life as seed
In darkness sown
Once more will rise
Through the blood
Of the stone.

Sweet smell of death
On the breath of life,
The Creatress and
The sacrifice.

(copyright Beth Rees)

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