I met a nymph with shadow hair
And secrets she was loath to share.
She carried daggers made from bone,
Her heart was like a beating stone.
Clad in blue like sky or water,
Mended from the ones who'd fought her.
In her eyes, if you looked deep,
Are scores of tears she did not weep.
Old scars shrouded by a smile,
The past is gone, though it a trial.
Past is past, and past is gone,
Heads and hearts and lives go on.
Friends still dear, and life still sweet,
With dancing allies and dancing feet.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
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