deepundergroundpoetry.com
Ghost Lady of the Sandhill Cranes
Ghost Lady of the Sandhill Cranes
Her freckles sparkle like pink sequins
For a cowgirl whose melody is a dulcimer
Played on the prairie wind
Whose spun gold is a tapestry of love
In the illusion of flaxen tresses
That dance like wind chimes
While her plait river of silk
Is a sandhill crane ghost
That slips through the raindrops
Until her beauty spots
Are all that sustains
As she cools her high heels
Her freckles sparkle like pink sequins
For a cowgirl whose melody is a dulcimer
Played on the prairie wind
Whose spun gold is a tapestry of love
In the illusion of flaxen tresses
That dance like wind chimes
While her plait river of silk
Is a sandhill crane ghost
That slips through the raindrops
Until her beauty spots
Are all that sustains
As she cools her high heels
Published 25th Feb 2022
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26th Feb 2022 8:41pm
26th Feb 2022 10:12pm
LilDragonFly, love your impressions of this poem. The woman depicted was inspired by a woman I encountered at a coffee shop. Yet my mind wandered far and wide. I thank you from the heart. And it is wonderful to see you here again.
Xo
John
Xo
John
9th Jun 2022 1:41am
"spun gold is a tapestry of love" hell yes it is! ;) and of course high heels... you and your coffee shop girls, they come (pun intended) in so many flavors. :p
9th Jun 2022 3:49am
Oh honey, them coffee shop girls got me by the marbles. Your comment sent me into peals of laughter and raised the dough of my biscuits into a resolution to try those flavors. LOL Honey, when you love my high heels line my zipper needs the female touch in the worst way. Love all your flavors.
XoXoXo
John
XoXoXo
John
