Poetry (16)

20150928_143033

The Dryad 

Once I was walking

In the piazza

At twilight,

When a dryad dropped

A Valentine

And this too

Despite –

The fact that I was mortal.

I could still read it right.

 

She made it up

Of dried fir leaves,

Rose petals,

And apples.

She pledged a kiss

For every one,

We met

And danced for hours.

 

And when at last

The Winter comes

After Autumn’s pungent spice,

 

My dryad bride

Will be bejewelled,

With a circlet

Made of ice.

 

(© Copyright Pola Negri 07/10/2015.)

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