at the side of the road
a fire
she huddles around
waiting for her children
they break through the trees
in woven clothes and tails
and in all good manners greet Sollilabelle
at the side of the road
they careen and carouse
these children of forest
and Sollilabelle
she offered them gifts of breads and beads, of market tomatoes fresh from the trees
and hungrily they eat. hungrily they tell tales
and this is the one i overhead
in the blackest wood
streaks a red heart
from which grows a sword
the man that wields that sword
will fall ill
and a woman fair no better-
but one wish it grant
and one only
that you become closer to a perfect self
dear readers,
i accepted the invitation
and lay 5 years prostrate
in illness no one could uncover
but i rise in the sixth year to tell you true
better i am. and wiser too
