The Veil is translucent. Owls eye complacently. <br />Do not fly. Not this day, night. <br />They blink gold discs. Ruffle feathers. <br />Talon branches tight, anchoring legends. <br />Mists under Sun, Moon. <br />Owls of lace, blood, warmth...waiting. <br /> <br />My father twined the Linden and Ash, though <br />He never knew...while Earth held him. <br />Blooded fighting hands, balancing the butterfly. <br />Teaching me. Softness, quiet, gentility. <br />Voice to shake mountains. Move them <br />Out of his weariness. <br />Yellow roses. His favorite. <br />Did he take one with him... <br />Or leave them all with me... <br /> <br />Owls call my name, today. Did you hear them? <br />Again, and again. I cannot answer the legend. <br />I want... <br />I need... <br /> <br />Tethers loosen. Drifting. Floating away from <br />The Shore. Freedom. Lightness. <br /> <br />My father's hand reaches through the Mist. <br />Pulls me back. <br />His other hand holds a yellow rose.<br /><br />elysabeth faslund<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-yellow-rose/
