Alexander Averin

Thursday, 1 August 2013

Indigo Child

Miranda J W Waterhouse

Indigo Child

Born in the caul, a veil of a violet hue,

an aura of indigo, a halo of silver,

its essence pure crystal,
she now surrounds herself with blue.
A weaver of dreams, she reads minds,
foretells the future, understands the loquacity of birds.
In the babbling of water, she hears the chattering of cherubs;
Animals draw to her,
lie becalmed beneath her soft and healing touch;

fraught babies cease their crying at her gaze.
She was not a fairies’ child
but sees into their devic fairy realms,
travels by night on blue rays of light,
carried on the wings of the philomel.
A lightworker, whose watchword is faith,
from somewhere far beyond,
surely of the Spirit, showing us
the errors of our crazy, human ways.


Cait O’Connor



Lorely Forrester said...

I love your poems Cait. There is something very special about indigo - even the name is special! Love the pictures you have chosen too.

hedgewitch said...

Finally found your blog! From first line to last this wanders in the enchanted kingdom under the hill, a place I always want to you bring some of its magic to a mundane world that sorely needs it.

Pondside said...

Lovely, Cait. Other-worldly and wonderfully dreamlike. Like a guardian angel.