VIII of Cups

I see the figure turn
At the witching hour,
Toward white thunder,
Ironstone amassed
Before the horizon,
Turn from a nostalgic tale
Toward one missing cup,
Just one missing.
No gold strike, soft wheat, warm honey,
No candlelight, aurora, moon, pale halo
Eclipse that one cup,
Never tasted, never had.
The story in the card
Is a story of turning.

C. Bronco