Nettle Shrine


I recall when you were a nettle shrine,
pews of stinging congregation hailing
golden sun cracking through branches of pine;
royal light upon painful leaves, shining.
You were blessed haven, green oasis
with brambled path beside bubbling, brown brook.
A sacred place, a time lost between us
as I revelled in your richest of looks.
Ravenous tools of this machine age
came with gnashing jaw and rending claw
to level your pride, upon you war-waged.
Now you lie in ruin, yet another land sore.
And we wait for the new saplings to grow,
for trunks to break earth, in the next shrine show.

Sonnet 14 of 100

‘Oh how I wish to go down with the sun
With you’

Nightwish, Sleeping Sun


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