She dances soft
for no one to keep,
where weeds lean silver
and stray dogs sleep,
beside the railroad,
under the moon,
her laugh is heard:
the buzz of June
How quick she blooms
so low away,
like lily bells
in leaves of May,
white-throated flowers
the green grass knows,
ringing for winds
where no one goes
At dusky hour
through clover deep,
where fireflies wake
and blackbirds sleep,
she laughs at moons
so pale above
like foolish men
she'll never love
May 12
May 12, 2026 at 8:06 PM UTC
She dances soft
for no one to keep,
where weeds lean silver
and stray dogs sleep,
beside the railroad,
under the moon,
her laugh is heard:
the buzz of June
How quick she blooms
so low away,
like lily bells
in leaves of May,
white-throated flowers
the green grass knows,
ringing for winds
where no one goes
At dusky hour
through clover deep,
where fireflies wake
and blackbirds sleep,
she laughs at moons
so pale above
like foolish men
she'll never love
Another love poem of a sort, and a long time since I've written one of these epitaphs. I wanted to capture the free but dangerous nature of the flower I see so often by my house, and what better way than to turn it into a woman. I think of this woman sometimes, a romani stranger in white skirts dancing freely in a meadow somewhere. I hope you can see her when reading this poem
