She Dances in the Dew
Some of the poetry I've written has taken hours of effort and rewrites for me to reach a place where I was happy with it. She Dances in the Dew came together in about half an hour. I hope it doesn't show! This a Spring-themed piece very much in line with The Daughter of Autumn and Maiden of Snow. I'll have to cook up another "seasonal maiden" poem for Summer!
She dances in the morning dew,
When the sun’s just begun to rise.
Humming a quiet fey-born tune,
Hope and tears mingled in her eyes.
With gentle steps she slips between,
The buds and flowers yet unfurled.
She blesses each in the early gleam,
And bids them open to the world.
Where does she come from - who’s her kin?
Some say she stood once with the trees.
With leaves for hair and bark for skin.
For those days now she still grieves.
How did it come to pass, you ask,
That she walks now in flesh and bone?
I’d much prefer the truth unmasked,
Of why she dances all alone?
Why -sweet spirit- do you cry,
Whilst in the throes of such fine grace?
What sorrowful magic left you to sigh,
Lonely in this place?
Perhaps one day we’ll have the chance,
To hear her full tale told.
Until then be content to glimpse her dance,
And watch Spring’s warm days unfold.