My Country Lady Poem by Andrea Vescovo

The wind blows down the mountains and below,
a little valley shines in the last sun
provided by ever-graceful Evening,
the silken harbinger of quiet Night.

A host of palms is lined in full array,
the leaves dancing a dashing, unquiet dance,
and below them SHE stands, my lady dear.
Her gracious mouth curved in a sweet smile.

Her silky hair dishevel'd by the wind,
draws thousands liquid shapes onto her face,
but no one of those turns can bring distress
to the fair countenance of my true dame.

And thus she laughs and sings an old-time song,
about the land she treads and lives upon,
and on she goes, her voice one with the gale.
I stay to hark, won by her dirge of love.