by J.D. DeHart
Centuries ago, they took her up
on top of the mountain, so near
the heavens – and who would have
foreseen all the ash, all the tumult
in such a celestial plain?
She did not go willingly.
Her once fecund form now withering,
her once rich hair now flecked
with vestiges of gray, her branches
once full of buds now beginning
to reach down to the earth, as if
forming a sad pose, the ultimate
movement of a long forgotten dance.
© 2014 J.D. DeHart
J.D. DeHart has had poetry in Aoife's Kiss and Starline. He also has poetry forthcoming in Illumen, and his blog is spinrockreader.blogspot.com..
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