Dryad

I

When in the deepness of the greenwood once,

Where light and shadow play upon the eye,

And senses often fail the jaded mind,

I chanced to spy a maiden flitting nigh,

Who silently ran hither through the trees

And melded in the gossamer of sky.

~

I scarce was sure that I had seen here there,

For very like a mist did she appear.

So sylph-like was the manner of her mien,

Demurely, she began to draw me near;

And presently, I wanted nothing else

But gaze upon her form and never veer.

II

With fawn-like eyes bewitching ev’ry sense

And ashen hair that billowed in the breeze,

She danced and spun like some capricious plume

And darted back and forth as if to tease.

So taken was I with her winsome charm,

She held my heart and took my will with ease.

~

And so, I chased the spectre, path unseen,

Cast on a reckless and meandered flight,

Unheeding to the qualms of heart and soul,

And blinded to the signs of coming night.

With labored breath, in darkness, soon I stopped

To see the nimbus of her fairy light.

III

The countenance of modesty that touched

My heart to stay the hand and win her trust

Now wavered in a flurry of bright light;

And in the midst of sparks and glitter dust,

She changed to something of a sultry sort,

That filled the heart with appetence of lust.

~

A moment’s pause, I hesitated there,

With trepidation slinking on my spine.

This jewel of a creature tempted me,

And I was much too smitten to decline.

She writhed and twisted, baiting ev’ry sense,

And I could only think to make her mine.

IV

With shameless air, I staggered to her glow,

Compelled by savage and possessive yen,

Intent on ravishing that youthful frame,

With no concern of what might follow then.

T’was there I noticed lying all about

The scattered bones of other fallen men.

~

And also there, were clues of their intents,

The rusting axes and the saws and guns.

They’d come to plunder and disturb the wood,

As men have done since dawns of rising suns;

‘Though not all those who come go out this way …

It is a fate bestowed on certain ones,

V

Like those who take and never think to ask,

Nor think of leaving something in return,

Who do not see beyond their point of gain,

Or care for nought except for what they yearn.

I fell upon my knees and closed my eyes

And braced for nature’s hand to strike and burn.

~

But then, I woke in confines of my camp,

Of understanding and of sense bereft.

I gathered up the sketches I had drawn,

The only semblances of any theft,

And with a tenderness upon the heart,

I strewed my footprints softly, as I left.

r. nuñez

6/2015