The jewel

The sun was high at noon  
Clouds drooped above  
sweating in the heat,  
welcome shade beneath  
the magic Rowan tree.  
I had found another place  
beneath some crosier ferns  
where soft earth beside a stream,  
green with moss, gave pillow for my  head
A mound soft as eider  
a triangle cushion, three a magic number  
The magic caught me un-awares  
half dreaming, but did not sleep.  
There was time enough to gaze  
at the drooping clouds  
and magic Rowan tree.  
Sleep would not wait  
there was a stirring in the earth,  
tremors in my ears.  
I searched the mossy mound,  
dug deep, drew back the green  
not knowing what to find,  
The ground gave up its secret  
the like I had not seen,wrapped in a peaty bed  
I had no jewel box to lock away this gift,  
did not want to lose it,  
took it in my mouth, sucking the tender white  
sweeter than I ever saw  ...  ...  ...  
A tear upon my cheek  
woke to an evening shower.  
my pocket empty  
in the noon high sun.