Give him your token, maiden, mother, crone –
He kneels for it, then raises it, her hand
Guides him towards the waiting empty throne,
From where they rule together this new land.
It flows before them in their golden dreams
Like hawks in flight, the grounds behind them roll,
And all that once was here and all that seems
Returns to them for them to mete and dole.
As angels on a height, they now survey
The grass within its growth, a cricket’s sound,
The feather of a hummingbird, its sway
Within a breeze where sunburst breaks unbound
From center, seed and egg, the embryo
From which love finds increase, change, constant flow.
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