Mandolin Lady

She’s a country girl
no doubt can sway you:

her smile, sweet freckles,
the grace that has no need to tell;

she’ll call you where you stand
and break you of that wildness;

and in that moment she picks the mandolin
a spell commences, another world arises

a fire out some old Irish by and by,
her fingers dancing on taut wires:

melodies of enchantment or doom,
blazings lighting a fierce day –

of lovers and warriors,
moon reed twining’s:

once we were stones crossing just there –
weavings inextricably meshed in this green destiny

Steven Craig Hickman ©2014 Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author is strictly prohibited.

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