The Glade

These days she wakes up the first of the week

Before the sun kisses the sky

to dance around her rabbit hole

In the glow of the silent glade

In twilight they move as poetry

His company, coup de grace

Brings light into her stillness

a beautiful brush of jade

She swears she must be dying

Merciful and sweet, embrace

It all feels like a grande delusion

Don't wake me from the glow of the glade

Honey has eyes like the sea

                                     Bet they see right through me