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25th May 2013

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A TREE SPELL
By Christopher Courtley
The seed of love already holds within its mystery The fair and fully formed tree of its prosperity; Its many branches dressed in leaves of green and gold Already bear the countless treasures of its wealth untold; The fruits of our passion that ripen in the night From which we daily press the sweet wine of delight; Its fragrant flowers open to the sun eternally As deep into contentment run the roots of our tree. In hope we planted it; with joy we tended it; With love we reared it and love rendered it. With joy we reared it and in joy now reap its boon In the circle of the seasons, by the cycle of the moon. The fruit of love in turn now holds within its mystery The seeds of many more trees into infinity; Their many branches dressed in leaves of green and gold Already bear the countless treasures of their wealth untold; The fruits of our passion that ripen in the night From which we daily press the sweet wine of delight; Their fragrant flowers open to the sun eternally As deep into contentment run the roots of every tree. In hope we planted them; with joy we tended them; With love we reared them and love rendered them. With joy we reared them and in joy now reap their boon Forever and forever by the cycle of the moon.

A TREE SPELL

By Christopher Courtley

The seed of love already holds within its mystery
The fair and fully formed tree of its prosperity;
Its many branches dressed in leaves of green and gold
Already bear the countless treasures of its wealth untold;
The fruits of our passion that ripen in the night
From which we daily press the sweet wine of delight;
Its fragrant flowers open to the sun eternally
As deep into contentment run the roots of our tree.

In hope we planted it; with joy we tended it;
With love we reared it and love rendered it.
With joy we reared it and in joy now reap its boon
In the circle of the seasons, by the cycle of the moon.

The fruit of love in turn now holds within its mystery
The seeds of many more trees into infinity;
Their many branches dressed in leaves of green and gold
Already bear the countless treasures of their wealth untold;
The fruits of our passion that ripen in the night
From which we daily press the sweet wine of delight;
Their fragrant flowers open to the sun eternally
As deep into contentment run the roots of every tree.

In hope we planted them; with joy we tended them;
With love we reared them and love rendered them.
With joy we reared them and in joy now reap their boon
Forever and forever by the cycle of the moon.

Tagged: pagan poetryheathentree of loveseedslove poemspilled inkChristopher CourtleyTree Spell

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