The Green Lady
By Bindi M
Old city lights, burning and bronze,
long gone and forgotten.
A green lady peeps through, vivid and lustrous,
lush flushes of emerald and white sprouts, reaching and breaching,
seeking through the rubble and searching for light.
Her white flowers curl up and her jade leaves furl into brilliant flames.
She hisses through the cracks, pretty petticoats craving tenderness.
But in a world where nothing is pretty,
where everything is broken and loud,
she is a beacon of ruined beauty, light and order within the humming chaos.
She sings about the sad things, about the creatures that once tumbled upon the land,
and how deprived must a lady be, to sing about the sad things?
She sings, and cries, and grows.
She is wild in a wilderness of wildebeests who are rough limp and simple mind.
Old city lights, blurred and dying.
A green lady twists around them, white flowers melting.
She sings happy songs now, about the happy things,
about the golden sun, and the clouds that bounced.
She cloaks the loud world with her elusive beauty and leaves of green.
In a world where nothing is pretty, she laughs.