~ Poetry by me ~
A coin fell. Long it lay
Beneath the lake; later lifted
From the mud for a museum,
"It´s old", they say. "Gift for the gods."
A coin falls, breaks the surface.
Prayers rise for health and harvest,
Young lips whisper age-old names
As the wind stirs, and moves the leaves.
A coin fell. Ripples spread
Across wyrd´s waters, softly break
Upon the farthest shore of time
Where I am standing. Then is now.
© 2005 Michaela
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