Queen,
blessed be,
the jewel upon your brow
beckons me.
I come to thee,
a supplicant,
a pilgrim,
a wanderer.
Something lesser,
ready for bettering
at the feet of the queen,
as she rises,
free.
Despite her glory,
‘ever burn
above the hoary
oak,
steam,
like smoke
drifts along the glass.
The breeze wishes
to the mirror
– be broken.
© CG Tenpenny, 2021.
This is my morning view. I’m enjoying some time in my camper/caravan, whilst I’m moving between homes.
