The Woman in White

A flash of white by the silver lake, A quiet dream that’s wide awake. She pushes high toward the sky, As if she’s taught herself to fly. ​Her dress is soft, a flowing cloud, The wind is fast, the wind is loud. She leans far back and shuts her eyes, While long hair through the garden flies. ​No one knows from where she came, Or what she calls her secret name. She only loves the rushing air, And the magic found while swinging there. ​But when the light begins to fade, She melts into the purple shade. An empty seat, a slowing rope— A ghost of joy, a breath of hope.