Once, she'd preferred the men to the plants
Her need to enrapture them with her dance
Vines sprung wherever bare feet would tread
Hyacinth stage, and moonflower bed
But the men shrunk away at night.
Nature moved them towards a light
of their own. Every night, the moon grew them apart.
It was hard on her heart.
Twice, then, the same man captured her gaze.
Stretched out her limbs, she danced to amaze
Body in bloom, desire had spread
out of her skin and into her head.
But the man shrunk away at night.
Nature moved him towards a light
of his own. Every night, the moon grew them apart
to the death of her heart.
Each dawn, the tendrils clung to her heels.
Each dawn, she cruelly peeled them away.
They held out their arms and begged her to stay,
a trellis of bone to climb to the light.
In the night, bruised and almost ruined
from her lost struggle with the moon,
looking down, she could see that her damage was real.
And she longed to stand still.
our heroine dryad, she
stubbornly stares down the time and the tide.
Men come to entreat her;
as the vines wrap her knees, she says:
"My hands are free.
I'll be still 'til they can't
strike at me."
The vines sealed her smile, a statue at last.
And once, she preferred the men to the plants.