Visage ghost-like, near one

with the mist cloying to skin, to hair,

to silken clothes and fair blossom there,

budding early in vernal

season, bewitched by promise of sun

to heat to bloom – full and fragrant – Earth

and her, uncovered from weight

of heavy fabric, now revealed,

shiv’ring: a figure tragic.  Her eyes

catch flight of a darkened shape

dashing behind trees, in rain draped and

bedraggled – a mirror image to

the girl stood waiting; but thus

waiting for what, or for who?

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