LIFE

Invisible the old crone that sat thumping her cane,
the head of dragon spewing fumes, 
thumping the beat--
dosado
and vis a vis,
the fiddler played;
and the dragon roared;
a timeless ditty.

She blossomed in the rustling gowns,
barn rafters rattling.
Cackled as young boys snatched a first kiss
and cried over young flames broken.
Arthritic limbs seemed to dance
to the beat of the dragon's metronome.
Age's imprint lost
against the festivity.

Here I stand
a dilapidated barn
with a barren floor, 
I hear the fiddler's strains
and see the metal cane.
I search, it couldn't be placed there.
Old man death has breathed on it, but remnants remain.

Young hands breathe life,
stain knobbly calves and hooves-
weaving a purple mesh.
The musnud placed underneath the mantle
and fire still breathes from the dragon's mouth.
And I see her.
Cane thumping, music blaring
I have made her everlasting.