The Gathering from Graceful Wanderer by Jane Frances

Who can face a gentle state
That lead me to this feathered waste of a life with you
The crooked bows of worn out woes
A crumpled shoe and heavy toes confined and strewn.

A wishing well, of angels that dwell in the night,
Keeping watch as the maidens they frolic and fight, in tune, in tune.

My second skin is worn and thin
From this shackled fate and many a fractured lie.

My bones are weak, my journeys sleep
Where my dreams they do fly and fly in time.

Transporting thoughts of whispered troughs
Of coloured skies and opened eyes.

A wishing well, of angels that dwell in the night,
Keeping watch as the maidens they frolic and fight, in tune, in tune.

The storm of Winter, it leads to horizons,
Where loved ones are gathered, in stunning white tressles,
And flowers dance so lightly
And lost ones they sing here
So warm by the fires, the fires, the fires.

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