Cottonmouth

Betwixt the roots of Helios and Hyperion

Thee findeth yourself ‘long the avenue

Whither the soul hast the sky cav'd in on

Within a vast forest to behold to

Still, reddish-brown trunks dot the horizon

To be acknown on ‘t and not ache ‘r yearn 

Encased in a mure of lively crimson

Thee findeth thy holy sweetgrass did burn 

Standing in a field of bramble gone rogue 

Thee findeth thy vision blurred and darkened

Cuckold’d by a royal hart’s grand yoke

Crown'd by thunderbolt and oaken'd garland 

Gusts of cottonmouth are what shall linger

So yond Skymother braids thy hair as ‘twere

© Niklen 1/25/24