she used to be golden
tresses blowing in the wind
as she spun happily amid the wildflowers
swirling dust forgiven on old roads
traveling from fields to forest
forgotten leaves making her a soft landing
crickets keeping her company at night
while she kept close thoughts of warmth and music
never a moment to lose
feeling whole in her favorite sweater
only needing words sung or spoken
to remember her stories
her dreams darkened as her eyes opened
blackened and broken hearts dampened her spirits
she learned that she was always alone
among pebbles and fireflies and men
herself but a wisp of a thought
her sweater became threadbare and eventually lost
she grew colder and older
she awoke one day feeling warmth from within
carried that feeling on new travels
until she came to where the field met the forest
closed her eyes
hugged herself in her new sweater
felt the breeze passing through trees
with a lighter step
she moved through the old path
remembering old words
weaving them with new songs
a touch of silver rather than gold
but spinning happily again
The Word Rummager 
Leave a Reply