The Sunday Whirl ~ #Wordle 527 #Poetry

Twelve stones did an altar make
The divine number, enchanted by legend
A scented feather to light the way
Through ice cold tunnels
Breath, spread, sparks, words glue against the ice walls
Few make it this far, searching for the ancient brew
That comes from the majestic twelve
Those that hold the secrets of the universe
Of everlasting life
Would you drink from the sacrificial elixir?

© AnitaDawes 2021