In the hidden valley
The temple long has stood
Where monks in robes
Live sacrifice
protecting all that’s good
The orders, three in purpose
The margin, the dark, the light
Each with their time of worship
Each with their separate fight

Long, before our collective memory
When the trees were still our home
This place was blessed and holy
It is where the apple was grown
Where the looms of time’s weaving
Casting the shuttle to and fro
Weaving forever the triad of time
Containing all that we know

09/02/2019

Author's Note: line prompt "the triad of time"

Posted on 09/02/2019
Copyright © 2025 Brian Francis