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— suggests.