David McLansky

Rookie - 716 Points (5/24/1944 / New York City)

The Oaten Bride III


The singing mounts in celebration,
The Maiden shows no hesitation;
Honored, feted, filled with pride,
She dances as the Oat God's bride;
A nymph amid the blowing mist,
A crumpled oat stalk in her fist;

Her hair is oaten like her cloak;
Her supple limbs gleam in the smoke;
On her head an oaten crown
Formed of oat stalks woven round;

What bride upon her wedding night
Steps so sure with foot so light?
What joy blooms there upon her cheek;
What rapture as she twists and leaps;

Submitted: Saturday, April 05, 2014
Edited: Saturday, April 05, 2014

Topic of this poem: love


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