Of a Lost Dryad

She’s not healing
Days have passed in rest and the medicine has been given
Time heals all wounds, but she is not healing

The path has been walked and forks explored
Gullies rambled, over brier patches soared
Mirthful flakes have powdered play
The leftover blanket smashed to mud
The yips of May accompanied by flouncing foot

Time steps on whether it is used
Scrapes and scraps are the ways of youth
Age takes more than bark tea of the dryad’s tree

Old Gray Hair outdone by the White Rabbit,
Surrounded by a flock of chirps, fluttering sights
A lone soul can seem like a poor role
When a tear is painted off an eye
But each heart stole raises the boughs up high
Of a Weeping Willow tree

Type

Text, Literary (Novel/Poetry)