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Poet's Princess
by
Rusty Broadspear
The young
man's grey 'poet shirt'
Billowed, flapped in the breeze.
Turquoise breeches, dusty and worn,
Threadbare at the knees.
Fair hair to shoulders, lank, unkempt,
Dull, lifeless, hanging down,
A display of idle contempt,
A broken-hearted lover's crown.
Seated on a fallen tree,
Body bowed, head in hands.
Cried his last cry bitterly.
Fates, not his, to understand.
To the music of the nearby forest........
He decided to dream a rainbow -
Tear the colours strip by strip.
Actions to make the stain go.
Flagging, losing grip.
With bands of colours by his side,
Fingers plied purple and red,
Shades she wore, and now denied,
Deeply engraved inside his head.
Yellow, orange and bridal pink.
Woven, mystical plait, glowing.
Hands a blur, he couldn't think,
Unimaginable loss, unknowing.
To rainbow scent and discontent........
The last two strands lay on his lap.
To merge, unite, coalesce and end
His torment. Blue and green overlap,
Begins to comprehend.
Madly weaving, working with passion,
Hazily, lazily - a transformation,
He rolled to the ground, worn, ashen,
The sun grinned gold, he slept salvation.
And upon the fallen tree - a gown,
A flaming radiance, an Angel's dress.
And quieter than a plover's down
She materialised, held it to her face
And walked away - the Poet's Princess.
To the feel of unseen beauty, he awoke.........
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