Owls and Orchids

 

It was that magical hour

The powerful most time

Man called the ‘witching hour’

If they only knew

The power to be found

Opening their senses to this

The most incredible of times

Sweet eldritch chimes

With unhurried step she glided forth

Her back to the house

As she moved to the north

Towards the grove

Deep in the woods

The Sacred grove

The magical circle

Where time could be suspended

As well as all man’s rules of should

Replaced instead by power filled could

Within the circle

Ground laid bare

Sisters one and all

Gathered there once more

To join in joyous splendour

No man could perforce engender

To create a celebration new

Which called for self-surrender

Opening all to wider mysteries

Of power most sublime

Believed lost for all time

Yet living still in hearts and minds

Of every member of her kind

A grove surrounded

By Birch and Elder

Hawthorn and Rowan

Magical all

Whose power had shown true

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To those who had known

The power available to the few

Remaining of the dragon kind

Of such a one was she

Who knew the magic of the tree

To be called upon in knowledge

Power unforgotten by the few

Once more to be set free

∼

As the moment of high power drew near

No potions or spells

Neither a descent into hell

Just power gathering within herself

Of knowledge long learned

By those who yet yearned

To recapture the ways of old

No longer freely told

Into herself she turned her bright gaze

Her mind’s eye once more fiercely ablaze

With the glow of potent magic

Of power most true

Building a great vortex anew

Preparing herself to step through

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The corner once called

The elements true

Spirits and elementals they knew

The fierce glow from her grew

Her favourite hue

Enveloped them all in the circle she drew

Til it appeared to all

She was all but consumed

By the fires she wielded inside

For her essence distilled

By the power she willed

He form to transform once more

 ∼

Sharpening her focus

With each beat of her heart

Joy held inside but a part

The power of her mind

She bent to her will

Til in her place stood a glorious beast

A dragon of old

Sparkling once more like beaten gold

Larger than all life

A picture of might and awe

With a primal cry of command

Beat her wings on demand

Followed by her brethren below

Dragons of colour profound

Metallic hues did abound

As they launched away from the land

Some to return with the dawn

Return to the land

To the call of the Sacred Grove

To gather yet more of this new treasure trove

Of priceless magical beats

Of every metallic hue imagined

From times long ago

To fly in the night once more

Releasing their magic on this new shore.

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 Blessings, Susan ♥

© Susan Jamieson 2014

Top image from: cedar-and-willow.blogspot.com