Sylvia Sharpentier

Whereon sylph perched the silky meadow that opalescent day
Like a whirring strand in ambered light
Briefly, she became a gossamer of wind, and
A tattered page in a timeworn fairytale
Whose lore whispers 
That which was veiled by the mist of Time

A staircase of golden butterflies kissed her 
To the elevation of this leaf of scripture:
   Praise the rugged humanity of thine
   Thou are a size of what thou see, and
   The world is what thou take
And so she curled her tail, 
The arctic fox of dawn 

The devils I've fought with 
Will defend me like Atticus Finch
For I fought the fight I must fight
With style, with sheer tenacity
Like an ancient vagabond, an honorable one

When the Epoch of High Romance arrives
Leave a bouquet over my grave
And bury me again under the white wilderness
Whereon sylph left the silky meadow that opalescent night