The wild woman's church
Is not a vast building
Neither pastor and congregation
Of young and old.
But within the forrest
Among plant and animal life
Is where she raises her voice
In song with birds
Swaying her hips side to side
In time with cattails
By wind's decree.
She meditates on felled log
Listening for answers
Of questions that plague
As insects hum near by
When she departs from church
She returns to the world
Refreshed in peace and joy.
YOU ARE READING
LOST GIRLS
PoetryThose considering themselves lost girls of society. Godesses of creation among men. Or nymphs of nature. These poems were written for you.
