"They Who Dance"

To she who dances in the woods of red,

Her time will pass and you shall pay no mind;

A crown of thorns, a burden on her head.



Her visage, sad, shows that her dreams are dead.

Look further still, walk forest paths that wind;

To she who dances in the woods of red.



At once you see the man whom she shall wed

Dons pure white clothes. Behind a tree, you find

A crown of thorns, a burden on her head.



Dancing over frosty ground, the man does tread

And soon you notice his milk eyes are blind

To she who dances in the woods of red.



The woman falls. If only she had said

How misery accompanies this bind;

A crown of thorns, a burden on her head.



Ground of frozen dirt and leaves becomes her bed.

Scattered grave, she finds the worms in kind

To she who dances in the woods of red,

A crown of thorns, a burden on her head.

J.D. Larsen