A Song Of September Woods Poem by Barry Van Asten

Soft was your hand in my hand,
As your lips parted gentle, and red;
And our kisses were ecstasy, fanned
Beneath the bright moon of the dead;
Our embraces girdled a band, Veronique,
Beneath the bright moon of the dead!

And here the veil of long ago
Was drawn in the silvern surprise,
By fingers that flickered white as snow
Like the moonlight caught in your eyes...
And suddenly the song did grow, Veronique,
Like the moonlight caught in your eyes!

Silver-skirted, in the glade...
Your sweet lips towards September, flow
As your long pale legs dance in the shade
Where the light of moon fears to go -
You are ecstasy perfectly made, Veronique,
Where the light of moon fears to go!

All night in the woods, you danced -
I suffered your beauty, and sighed;
I was struck by your form and entranced,
O sweet maiden where moonlight just died;
And I stood for all time as I glanced, Veronique,
O sweet maiden where moonlight just died!