Slowly turns
the wheel of the year
as slowly this thing that grows
from tender shoot
to root
to sapling
to mighty trunk and branch,
reaches at first
so tentatively
from the warm, safe dark
secret place
towards the blinding
power and immortal strength
of the light
Slowly turns
the wheel of creation for he
who having made a thing in haste
and, marring its beauty,
has dashed it to pieces
in a rage of sensing perfection
spoiled,
now needs
so deeply to create
with new and flawless brilliance
that which
all the wasted time before
should have been
just so
Slowly turns
the wheel of the year
for the one who must be best
blessed
to grow from that tiny seed
so sure and strong and straight
with hands that form pure
magick
where they touch;
a soul
so worked
with the gentlest rhythms
of time's richest gift
slowly turns, but right.
