Poetry (16)


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.)


3 thoughts on “Poetry (16)

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