Ode to the Serpent

O you who glide on carpets of dead leaves
On ancient rocks scattered on forest floors
Under raining fires of a thousand suns
And mysterious moons of blackest nights;
O you white serpent of darkness and light
Slithering in the shy shadowy depths
Of tremulous trees in whispering winds
And runnels meandering through meadows;
For you, I have walked all through the forest
My feet full of the dew of cold mornings
For you, I have searched so many long years
My eyes filled with the ache of lost sunsets!
O mysterious serpent of my dreams
Reveal yourself to me this final hour
Lead me to your secret cove in the gloom
Where you sleep like a wild song in the woods.

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Beryl Zephyr

An occasional writer but a regular thinker, Beryl sometimes fiddles in speculative fiction. He sees both humour and tragedy in everyday events and is extremely concerned with the fate of other creatures trapped in the monstrous march of 21st-century human civilization.

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