Your Magesty
I am listening.
I am at your service.
Guide me right for healing.
What lovely cones you bear,
with jewels ancient and glossy.
What fragrant sweet perfume you wear,
your needles sewn with care.
You are regal, yet humble,
a forest sorceress.
You heal and feed,
and soothe every need,
A ministree, you are.
My Queen,
I see the peace in your arms
as you stroke the winters chill
as you caress away the ills.
I feel the cure in my throat
as a tingly coat
and a balm to my every wound.
Your spell casting gaze
and owl hiding ways
I honor and offer you praise.
May I speak for you, touch for you
weave a fancy tale
for you, lead me through
the labyrinth of troubles
with your color of emerald;
a poultice on my soul.
I am listening, speak
whisper, to me through your shape,
body, sap, seeds, and needle. Roots like
lovers to rocks and branches like whirling dervishes
reaching yet bowing
floating yet steadfast
ever green yet evolving
prehistoric yet prophecy,
Commanding presence and quest,
seeker and song.
I am listening, opening, to you
My Emerald Queen.
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