War is in the air but for now the year is content

to stretch out is tentacles

and feel the Northern sun warm the soul

and the days to become ones of bliss,

of harvesting the rewards

of bounty and the food

that will sustain the people under

Weodmonath’s care.

 

The gladiolus bloom everywhere

she looks and her charm, tempered by

anger of Solmanath’s revenge like fury

on her previous troubled psyche, is still…

 

Deep in the heart of her bosom though

Is the unheard drum of war

that follows such creation

and the jealousy of others who would rape

and kill for their hard earned devotion

to the Queen

is not to be question but

guarded against.

 

Solmanath was at least right about this,

for the man she was and the warrior she

became, Weodmonath had fought the war

many times in her head and in the past.

For now though the bees

sang with fortune bold

and the terror to come did not worry such

creatures of Earth.

The laziness of the summer sun

installed grace and naked ambition

in equal determined fashion,

but always in the background,

always hiding just out of sight

and making their own violent plans,

lays those to whom

jealousy and hatred of Weodmonath’s

sacred position as the most loved month

starts gnawing at their black and

blood dripping souls.

 

Ian D. Hall 2015