The gowns of the trees appear as a paintbrush soaked in brushfire;
each leaf a jewel on ladies of the court.
A cranberry tang wafts down the sweet-grass hill
as the autumn breeze appears before them,s a stately gentleman.
The ladies laugh and rustle their skirts, as he whispers in their ear.
As they converse, jewels grow heavy and fall from gowns;
like a gentleman, he scoops them up and offers them back,
but what use has a lady for a discarded gem?
He offers it to the ladies one by one,
waiting for the girl humble enough to accept.
But the ladies of the court, they are far too proud.
as the days grow short, his patience wears.
Day by day his contempt grows.
Scattering the trinkets in sudden rage,
he strips the ladies in a single storm,
and from their grasp, their frail beauty is torn
I, too, will be courted by him.
His cool touch will caress my cheek,
where a burning blush
will take root and spread.
And there his kiss will linger.
I will accept his gift,
cherish it, with all my heart,
But for me, the gift is useless
like a stale breadcrumb
it dries and crumbles—
I cannot wear it,
The gentleman's token,
and though I long for him to stay,
I also cannot hold his heart.
I will let him leave,
Inhale his sweet musk cologne
One last time.
Then, for him
I will sweep up the
dry blood gems
and hurry them away
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