Cobwebs laced in spiders lay across a golden drape, Wine soaked empty barrels, reeking still of golden grape. Dungeonous surroundings, dark beyond a starless night, A cellar long abandoned; Civil war would end its plight.
Southern homes abandoned, engulfed in fear’s infusion, Slaves released at last, run fast, in dubious confusion. Grandeur portals stand ajar, white castles lay in wait, Crystals ring a haunting tune, blue melancholy estate.
Cobwebs laced in spiders lay across a golden drape, Undiscovered treasure left behind, in panic’s wake. Gilded portrait lay disgraced, face down in crumbled soil, There amidst the blackened rubble, lies Miranda’s oil…
The songs and art in this book are about our collective emergence after the pandemic and trauma of the last few years - comprised of 5 collections: World as Refuge, Where We Live, In Our Hands, Rhythms of Change and What We See & Sow.
Each person is but a grain of sand resting beside the sea. This thought sets the tone for Jill Eisnaugle’s latest poetry collection, Beside Still Waters.
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Merriest Christmas and Blessed Years.
Tracey
Reindeer
Allen