Fairies in the English forest
Wove my hair in golden braids,
Spun me round in their earthen waltz,
Spooned me cider from apple-kegs.
Nimbly they placed me in a spell—
It was the magic of my dreams.
And now, all flushed with ruddy cheeks,
I’m happy, or so it seems.
—
The time for tea was growing stale
…..While the shipmen left the quay.
But then a wind puffed out the sail—
…..Shaking the cargo with a wail—
As chamomile stained the Pacific Sea.
—
Life has made a fool of her.
Who has she become?
What is this she’s grown to see?
Her face is blank as a cotton sheet.
Her arms are thin and old.
There is something sad
And terribly cold
In the act of becoming a woman
One does not wish to be.
—
Did you already
forget how much I loved you?
You should have been there
when I remembered
how perfectly you could make me cry.
—
Fragile memory:
Handle with the utmost care.
Keep the right side up—
Else be prepared to wonder
“Who am I?” forevermore.
—
They told me some things:
Like how good you’ve been looking,
How thin you’ve become,
How fast your heart has turned to gold.
Or is my hearing failing me?
Perhaps they said:
How fast it’s turning cold.
—
These poems are very rotten
But what more can I say?
My mind’s all stuffed with cotton,
My mouth’s all full of clay.