[ The Rose Garden – South London Mid 1800’s ]
Who are you? I ask the Lady
that has appeared before me in the garden by the wood.
She regards me silently for a moment and I am suddenly unsure,
but then she smiles and drops softly to one knee.
Eye to eye now I feel much better, she is not so big, not so tall
and I am not so small.
You are Elyria Green and I know your name,
as I know the name of all the gifted, child.
And as it is extremely rude to know yours and you not know mine,
allow me to introduce myself.
With a gentle flourish she sweeps her arm wide and bows low knelt one knee,
and then, looking me straight, I know she tells truth.
Helen is my name and I am here to teach you of the ways of your kind,
for you may help us all,
or you may leave us blind.
That is a choice for you and karma alone,
as you grow up and live,
as you blossom and love.
But mostly the choice will be made when you lose,
when the love seems to have gone,
that’s when you choose.
I have a choice too, should I teach you the way?
Should I risk all I have or should I just walk away?
But I always thought,
that a rose should have the chance to bloom.
You are here,
and I choose hope over doom.
So listen Elyria Green and learn well,
You can help change this world
with the word and the spell.
But guard always against bad thoughts and be kind,
for one day you must choose,
and all your days up till then
will be nothing but practice for the
moment to come when I hope you will shine.
How will I know? I ask The Lady Helen.
My mind is whirling with questions,
so many I can barely think straight
and I am so excited I want to know it all.
I can barely wait!
You will just know, all around will seem still
like the whole world holding its breath
for your word and your will.
But for now I must go and will be back in one year
for that is the way that these things must done.
Until then tell no one.
Be kind, generous and good.
Practice and practice and I will see you once more,
Here in this garden by the wood.
And with that she walks away,
leaving me so excited I can hardly breath.
I dance through the garden ready to explode,
until exhausted I lay down,
with daisy’s as my crown.
And I look up at the moon and its mechanical cities.
War is coming, Father says,
and then the magic is gone.
We all fear the tribe on the Moon.
In my visions I know I will be there soon.
Copyright Faramond Frie © 2015