'Tis darkest midnight of the year,
fire blazing in her eyes.
She dances 'round and 'round the womb,
of Spring's hope, of nature's prize.

Her sunset hair and wind rose skin,
enchant, affix, my gaze.
Naked she moves, as floating leaf,
veiled by moon and blaze.

She dances for the Springtime,
to wash away the mire,
calling me to take her,
join her in the fire.

'Tis the darkest midnight of the year,
hearts find their hidden mirth,
and dance as one, well in the trance,
of life, and love of earth.

As she twirls a blood red tulip between her fingers,
dogwood blossoms fall and cling to her hair like snow.
It is deep in Springtime
and midday sunlight filters through new leaves,
making, ever changing, antique lace patterns on her skin.
Teasing my view
I now and then glimpse the efflorescence of her *******,
and her body's perfect design.
The Faerie Queen,
strolling, floating, in a wildflower glade amid the newness of the season.
A ****** unknown to her,
through dreamy eyes, I secretly peer, drunk with the vision of her.
Tittled by the nakedness of her toes combing blades of grass,
with her eyes fixed on waxwings in a puddle bath,
she quietly laughs.
Startled, I laugh along with her.
Breaking my silence,
I drop my lyre.
The strings play an eerie dissident chord as I run off to the wood.
My hooves throwing sod,
my hair streaming in the wind.


*To the poets who sometimes do not feel inspired, I was inspired to write this poem by falling dogwood petals, and I have always wanted to use the word tittled in a poem

It's cold.
A fog creeps along
The gound at my feet.
It's dark and I'm afraid.
There's no one here
to guide me home.
Where is it?
What is it that I'm
looking for?
Who can help me?
Wait, what is that?
A light! It travels closer!
It's bright with welcome,
He holds out his hand
to help me home.
It's him, the one, the man
I've been waiting for.
I gladly take his hand in mine.
His hand is warm
Against my cold palm.
He is the light in my darkness.
So bright and shining
with love.