Thursday, April 19, 2012

She Who Dances In The Glade

A girl might dream of dancing light,
that in the forest flits and twirls madly;
a random, airy thing of faerie fire
and silken wing, this daring sprite
who sheds robes and concerns gladly
to revel there in unrestrained desire.

A man might wander through that wood,
discarding care, forsaking human toil
of plow, and trowel, and stone-sharpened blade
to run and howl where two legs stood
before, and search the sky and soil
for scent of she who dances in the glade.

And should their revelries conspire
to bring them to the perfect place and time,
each might know the other’s nature on sight
and curse their human skin a liar.
A beast may out of man thus climb,
and a girl dream she is a dancing light.

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