She knows not that I watch her soul
smiling idly out behind eyes blue flecked
with bits of gold.
I play a light and airy tune with wood and wind
Nestled deep in forest glen,
Just for her, as always promised.
Notes ride the air,
seeking purchase within her mind to push aside
a raven’s deep abiding dark claim.
For there resides a tumultuous churning,
as I try and intertwine
and weave, a melody
with my fool’s flute,
dipping an octave or
two going in.
Again, I spy your smile sneak out
as my delving takes.
And a shadow or two
that was once another you
loosens it purchase
and takes flight.
by Philip Wardlow