The lady of the lake,
That enters stiffly,
Swims with open arms--
Teetering absently before your misfortune;
Like lilies that tangle--
Sweeping stardust under foot;
Blessed be,
For Augusts laughter can scarcely sing;
Absently she delegates the breath of summer;
Nimble are the fingertips that caress your dignity,
Onward she sleeps for vanity--
Until heaven held her far.
©Ashley Leslie 2013
