Barley Dream   Leave a comment

His last sight was the barley dream

He paid the price for the seasons green

The cup was filled

His blood was spilled

It was the rite of the barley dream

I bore his sons

He called me wife

I bore the cup and I held the knife

We loved as one

In the setting sun

I gave him drink and I took his life

We laughed we loved as the wheel turned

Our lives were full and our passions burned

For seven years

We knew no tears

As the babies grew and the children learned

If the seed would grow then the stalk must fall

Rebirth through death is the fate of all

The body’s tomb

Is the mother’s womb

We need not run from the reaper’s call

His last sight was the barley dream

He paid the price for the seasons green

The cup was filled

His blood was spilled

It was the rite of the barley dream

Posted June 7, 2015 by Tigira

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