The morning sky wears dulcet tones of mauve
Above twining mists wraiths in the ughten vale.
A lissom maid glides past coppiceway shadows,
Her silken garments whispering aft
On fugitive vapor swirls.
O'er moss carpet trail and cedarwood damp
She lilts toward a hillside thicket
That crowds 'round the jagged silhouette
Of an aging iron gate.
Fragrant scents spill forth from the verdant glade
Cloistered by this bind of thorns.
Wrought finials scrape the pastel surface of dawn
As she slips within, pulling her ivory gown
From a briar's clutch.
Glistring flowers and herbs tumble 'bout the hidden garden,
Their dewgilt blossoms lush with pristine light.
A redolent serenade, borne on gossamer filaments,
Summons her toward arabesques of chamomile and lavender
Where she rests upon draping silks.
Droplets of rain feathertouch her body 
And cling like wet petals.
They sough from wisps of ephemeral clouds
That blush far above.
The cleansing rivulets plait through her raveled tresses
To anoint her in dawn's essence.
And, cradled by floral tapestries,
She greets the sunrise.

Copyright © 2003 by D. Wakefield