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The Lady At Dusk

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The Lady At Dusk

It was on one dusk of summer while I
      Sat then brooding on some wooden plank
   And the air rippled with glitters golden raining down
From the Western sun
—which slowly, slowly bided time
   To bid the day goodbye—
That I, that very moment, chanced upon 
      As I looked up from my stupor, 
   Far ahead from where I was, a stone's throw perhaps, 
The fairest sight
—in an intricately delicate dance, 
   a lady on a prance.
She spun, and swayed, and twirled with grace, 
      She danced with naught a care
   Of the world around and yet they trained on her their sights, 
The world of men.
—And how was it on a lady's dance
   Many a heart were much entranced? 
'Tis strains a lot the mind discerning
      Why at times the heart to great extents desire
   The unattainable; which makes a stone's throw, to say the least
Become a million miles.
—in the dying light, one could only digest
   The beauty and all good the lady
      —the dance—

Copyright © Robert Uy

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