An old, simple woman, Maeve,
she smiled through tears
with spirit-dispirit of regalia,
yet stood so brave,
her spirit draped in tattered grace,
with a solid head led,
a regal heart in time’s embrace.
She, biding thoughts like anise sweet,
She, biding mind, weld—wed,
a hulk in thighbone wild,
her steadfast mind refused defeat,
with solid step and iron thread,
in midnight’s height.
she wed the wild where midnight fled.
She smiled through tears, yet never swayed,
She smiled through tears, moot never.
Her laughter—bright, though dimmed and frayed.
Her spirit burned—a neon glow,
she smiled her revel—a negro provincial right,
A fire within she’d learned to show.
She willed herself to stand up tall,
Her spirit—neon, unharnessed lore,
to ride the winds, to heed the call.
Through trials—fierce, she forged her way,
Criminate, she willed neither normal,
nor riding modern, unbridled heart, no reins could stay
she—a haven, like a wild stallion—not horse.
She set out with the shifting tide,
and he, a weld, heirs weak,
an old soul drifting, none beside,
like a steed of midnight shade,
Old, her bones, her spit, is left light,
where time and susurrations slowly fade.
She smiled through tears, her spirit worn,
Bones, her bones fluttered,
her voice but a reflection, soft and torn.
Her weary bones, like petals light,
like a wild midnight stallion, not—horse,
fluttered upon the winds of night.
Like a wild stallion, she bore her past,
to start in old, a shaded bourgeois,
a shadowed dream—too free to last.
An old, simple woman—she wavered,
An old simple woman, she in disquietude,
In whom tears rimed or sided, she labored,
half in jest, yet rimmed with tears.
She smiled at fate, at lands sun-drenched,
where reflections—called across the years.
She set her course by stars unseen,
in impertinence, this—
the land o’er light-drenched beams,
riding time’s unyielding tide,
a weld of past and present dreams,
midnight’s shadow at her side.
She smiled, she who errs.