O silent moon, divine, when velvet gowns
are shed, your silver slips through fingertips
of frozen branches while from the deeper downs,
perfumed, a song of dryads cling; their lips
are amber, moss rose, myrrh, a tender taste
of flutes; but they are rooted, sway with winds;
with arms adorned in icicles; no haste
in dreamery of winter’s fallen mind.
They are the resting trees, the oaks , the pines,
their sleep is aged and bent from many springs,
but when I touch their bark with gentle hands,
I feel a sapling’s crimson warmth; it rings
with scents of cinnamon and sun tanned sands.
O silent moon and trees you’ve made me see,
the sapling in my heart; I am the tree.
I wrote a second sonnet for Victoria’s wonderful prompt on synesthesia at dVerse. Come and join us with your best writing. I’m also linking up this sonnet to Real Toads, Tuesday platform
December 4, 2015