Wild Woman Dreams

She’s the mother, she’s the child
She’s the weaver of all things wild
Speaks the language of the trees
And paints the fabric of our dreams

A burst of stardust magic,
With earth in every breath
Hair of vines entwining,
A fiery dragon’s nest
Beneath her lashes glows a fire
Of molten warmth and sweet desire
She moves like water, wild, windswept,
Like whispers blown from witchy breath

She’s the mother, she’s the child…

Curling like a shell with magic in its turns
Unfurling like the fronds of a tender green fern
She dances, she imagines,
She creates and she dreams
Colours bright and swirling
With pohutukawa seams

She hears the laughter of the wind
She calls the cry of forest kin
Feels the pulse of fairy wings
She chants the song of wild things.

Her heart is wide, warm, and giving
She sprinkles gold by lovingly living
A playful glint of mischief in her eye
She turns plain dirt into sunset sky

She’s the mother, she’s the child
She’s the weaver of all things wild
Speaks the language of the trees
And paints the fabric of our dreams

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