Amongst the lime-sun barley spikes,
A conch-curled shell of azure hides:
A field of summer, field of spring,
A field that Demeter would sing
Where lovers run through trails of stems
And trace their broken tracks through life,
To where the underworld begins,
To where the sun and night are streams.
It’s there amongst the twisted grass,
There they hang from grains and grasp
At rains which come as echo seas:
The hidden ones who cast their shells
For now their light of life will glow,
And deep within their mysteries flow.
Poem inspired by the rather wonderful photograph, taken by Silentwonderland,