The wind kicked up the window lace,
entered the room with a lilac embrace
and brushed against her camisole
while dancing nigh on Cobbler’s Knoll.

The tiny cottage nestled in wood
bestows a tale if it could
of greatest love and passion grand,
laughter rolling in the tall grass stand.

She gave away her greatest gift
in pasture fields her skirt did lift
then homeward bound with bare footfall
when daylight faltered a dusky call

And hazy purple troopers stomp
before Gemini and Libra romp –
capricious spirits flirting with God
taunting tragedy with a wink and a nod;

Filling the wind with secrets bold
to sweep across the village told
and turned their cheeks a crimson rose
behind frosty window candle glows.

A fair-haired smile of innocence
dancing youth, faith, confidence
within her remote and stony abode
she kissed the wind as it bellowed

Up and through the chimney damper
where nesting birds took flight to scamper
across a broken china sky
with song and lore, and tear in eye.

Her fall from grace she would never know
her spirit is free but her mind is slow,
she will always remain a woman-child
carefree, curious, pure and mild.

English Woods

• Previously published on May 19, 1994
  Twenty years ago in Poetry Press.
  (Inspired by “Songs from the Wood”, Jethro Tull)