Shedding their maidenly modest green gowns
For flaming red and orange dresses
And golden garments bright shining as crowns
That give loving caresses
To long free-flowing tresses.
In this, their last dance, they throw off their veils
Which slowly drift down one by one
To be tossed about by furious gales,
And once the dance has begun
They do not stop Ďtil itís done.
When their veils lie rotting and brown below,
And all warmth and gaiety die,
The life pulse only beats softly and slow,
The winds make them seem to sigh
As they think of times passed by
And bare skeletal arms stretch to the sky.
.: jessdoor.com :: personal :: poetry :.