Nymph’s Symphony

When you dance in a storm

(when you do, when you don’t)

he thunders and rages.

(Escape from his cages!)

She trickles and tickles.

She patters and scatters.

She teases Her rhythms.

She drops and She sheers.

Her images prisms:

Her ringlets, Her tresses,

Her shawls and Her dresses,

Her tears when She pleases,

dreams swirling emotions,

Her joy overflowing

from breasts that are mountains,

from plants, the health-givers,

Her eyes flashing fountains,

streams splashing to rivers,

and rivers to oceans,

Her petticoats wavelets,

long-reaching lightning

Her hands and Her feet!

Drops in the flood

the names of our Mother,

fluid Her grace,

myriad Her face,

twirling and whirling

in concerts of mirth,

expression complete

(She does nothing by halfs.)

When you dance in Her storm

(when you do, when you don’t)

She works with your worth,

and She laughs!

© Tamara Rasmussen 2018