Winter solstice,
short nights
and cold in our bones,
we gather in the dell
among the alders
to greet our newest member.
Fear wreaths her head
as she feints left to run,
so I am called
to calm her and explain
the bone scrum we form.
She doesn't know
our ways,
the comfort
we derive
from bone on bone,
but she brings
the latest news,
other nights
so recently hers,
perhaps she brushed
a loved one
lost to us
and carries
their faint scent.
We have orchards
of hunger
for all she has.
Posted for Mama Zen at the Garden who asked to use homophones in our poem. I used feint and faint. I also found words in another prompt and used dell, alders, wreaths, and orchards but didn't write down the source and now can't find it again. If anyone can tell me I'd be grateful. This is another in my bone poems series.
