The hair falls, blonde and long:
A cherished doll. Birdsong
Echoes through the dale as
Twilight casts its gaze and vixens wail.
Sparks driven out as spikes driven in
Places gone, things untold; people she's been.
An openness; the silky vapour
Evaporates, yet cannot escape her
Cocoa eyes, wide as the day they met.
He sees her yet. He hears her yet.
Though she says no words, casts a glance
Over her shoulder, flying askance
Ringlets quiver in the breeze,
Yet in the shadows of the trees
No man appears
And yet she hears
A pheasant's cry: the yellowest canary
Its song a desperate scream, contrary;
Muntjacs dance with target tails,
But the vixen, ever hidden, wails.
