Southern Symphony

Southern Symphony

I lead her through the curtains of Spanish moss
that hang from boughs of
antediluvian oaks
O'er tufted turquoise and emerald feathers
a venerable tapestry that crackles under our bare feet in this great symphony hall  

the sun within its' cradle
cast pirouetting silhouettes about the hallowed creek

I show her her seat

Hollowed water reed for a baton in my hand
My orchestra of fiddlers moving about silkened sand

My body cascading rhythms of shadow and light
Syncopate the the fiddlers in eventide delight

A chorus of crickets begins to call
a troupe of fireflies to dance across the cerulean hall

A final crescendo of rippling waves moves o'er the darkened  pit
Resonating echoes of applause
in the marshy thicket

Now the moon has flooded the stage for yet another performance

He will lead the stars above

She claps for me and yells, "Bravo maestro, bravo!"

Bowed in curtain call stance,
I can only say, "Thank you, Miss Dickinson. Thank you indeed"

A reflection on my recent reading of "A Murmur in the Trees - Poems by Emily Dickinson"

Presented in the ONE NIGHT WITH YOUR FAVORITE FAMOUS POET challenge hosted by devilish