laden with silence
this early February eve
sits in stillness
and emptiness
the tenderness of Imbolc
glows in the waning
of the Snow Moon
as Brigid's Cloak rests
on the arm of the chair
the fire that remains
in her passing
is an ember at this moment
as the moon it glows
in the hearth
and as the germ in the seed
it patiently waits to ignite
burning as a beacon
for Venus's blessing
a fortnight away
but for now
the night is soft
the time is tender
the mood is gentle
and the lover waits
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