A Smile Aross Time: The Dance I Never Forgot

A Smile Aross Time: The Dance I Never Forgot

(Verses from a Springtide Evening)

It was spring — a night of fragrant lore,
Where April’s breath kissed every shore.
The sky, a canvas tinged with flame,
As twilight blushed and night became.

A bonfire danced on silver sand,
With flickers held in nature’s hand.
Around it, laughter lilted light,
And wine was poured with pure delight.

The breeze — a minstrel, soft and bold,
Played secrets only evenings told.
The trees wore gowns of emerald green,
And stars prepared their midnight scene.

There she appeared — not loud nor late,
A vision carved by dreams and fate.
The firelight kissed her windswept hair,
And moonbeams lingered just to stare.

Her dress, a poem in floating white,
Moved with the rhythm of the night.
No jewels flashed, no heels were high,
But galaxies hid in her sigh.

She looked at me — a gaze, divine,
As though she’d read the heart of mine.
She smiled — a curve both kind and rare,
That lit the hush of springtime air.

She said no word, yet worlds were spun
Between her silence and the sun.
In gestures soft, she spoke her care
In how she paused, in how she stared.

A platter passed, a drink she poured,
As if the night was gently scored.
The music swelled — a mellow tide,
And she, my muse, was by my side.

She took my hand — no words, no plea,
And led me where the winds ran free.
We danced beneath a willow’s sweep,
While daffodils began to weep.

No rush, no rule, just breath and time,
Each step a note, each turn a rhyme.
The earth stood still, the stars drew near,
The heavens watched and held their cheer.

And then — she left, like soft perfume,
That drifts away through twilight gloom.
No name, no kiss, no reason why,
Just vanished ‘neath the opal sky.

Was it love? Or but a gleam,              A painter’s stroke within a dream?
A fleeting flame, a whispered bliss,
That leaves behind a phantom kiss?

Perhaps some souls are never meant
To stay, but rather, be heaven-sent.
To stir the chords we thought had died,
To walk with us, then slip aside.

She came like dew on spring’s first rose,
Then vanished where the sunset goes.
A siren soul with stardust hair,
Who left the night perfumed with care.

She lives not now in time or place,
But in a thought, a dance, a face.
And though her path I’ll never track,
She walks with me — and won’t look back.