Madness of the Mississippi Mist
By Sharon
The madness of the Mississippi mist settled like dew on her golden hair she danced around the field that night arms aloft, without a worldly care. The night birds flying close to her could hear her crooning an eerie hymn she was a part of the darkling night a midnight seraphim. Her nightgown of pure white cotton clung to her girlish frame bare feet flew in a pagan dance that was wild and without shame. As untamed as any gypsy wench she twirled in girlish delight unseen, unheard by mortal man a child of the night. When she tired, she stopped a bit to speak to the whispering wind she became the mist, the night, the darkness called Rosalind. Written December 31st, 2001 © on Dec 31 2001 06:04 AM PST 0 • 8
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"The madness of the Mississippi mist..."