The cavern will do, but a smaller affair is in order. The cavern’s too wide to hold the innocent and their shriveled up lot of Love. The meadow stands open. Rise now with the fury of the grudge you hold for what you’ve allowed. Cast a shadow now, Mother! Rake your Love across this encampment, that warriors might find their way to the next leg of your journey, until next imagine themselves worthy of this battle for peace. Love waits for her just reward. The mountain’s hold the caverns, as does the ground, the mighty sentinel holding fast his slipping grip on man. Wake me in time for water, my Love! Wake me in time to smile upon your loving grace, delightful day. I dreamt you held my hand at the cellar door, and then dreamt that I remembered it. Dreams turn into prayers and prayers turn into dreams. I used to dream of emptiness, of quiet, of nothingness, death, ever sleep. Now I dream of Love. Of Love, I dreamed she still smiles, dreams, loves. Light, before snow twitches into aft
(The Weaver's Song)