I had not known grace until I saw her move,
like a white rose petal tumbling slowly with the wind,
falling onto the stillest pool of wintry water.
Beauty—beauty is a word created just for her.
She entered and danced upon my heart en pointe,
stepping so lightly over every inch of it.
Could I smell her fragrance from where I sat dumb,
as she wafted like a wraith across the Lake?
[...]
Draft IV
M.M.
Writ 28-Dec-2012 // Pub. 31-Aug-2013
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