Naiad to Dryad

Water suited her,

cleaved for her,

ran off her as,

barefoot on oakleaves, the

air transmuted her from

Naiad to Dryad.

 

(Image used by kind permission of Holden-and-Camille.com to whom I am most grateful and you should go visit. The poem is my imagination and is not a reflection of their lifestyle)

Lightning

Lightning lit your mouth

slowly working me, flashes

silhouetting the Mendips, your

lips, tongue, hands, eyes

coaxing my deluge just as the

rain battered Bristol and

all its surroundings.