Milady Day

So they say it is Milady’s Day in the enchanted realm of LDW
What can this one weary Traveler say?
To present as a Gift?
That is of Value?
And of Worth?
Pauses, in contemplation,
Gazes in the near and far distant –
For naught in profound thought
At a loss

For this Wanderer spins tales of the fantastic
Though the mist of emotional headiness
Masked by dusk and magic
Of moonlight and masquerade balls
Venetian masks
Silk and lace
Orchestrated glances of seduction
Courtesan intoxication

For in truth, what Is of Milady Day?
Can it be comprehended in feeling and in touch?
As an object to be beholden to?

Or is it intangible like the swell of an ocean?
The journey of clouds on an airy spring day?
Or the feel of a breathe of a summer breeze?

This lack of understanding this comprehension
To such thoughts troubles the Wanderer
For is he not a bard of image and thought –
Of loose words to tangible form?
Alas he sighs

A flutter of a soft breathe
A whisper of peace
The butterfly lights upon
The meadow flower
As the Traveler, the Wanderer
Looks upon in wonder

At the ordinary meadow flower,
The non-descript butterfly
Simple and plain
But hidden within as seen for the first time
Elegant beauty in their own way
Dancing upon the petals

Resting against the trunk of the wise oak
In the shadow of the branches
The Wanderer
The butterfly
And the flower

So they say it is Milady’s Day
In this enchanted realm of LDW
What can this One Traveler
Present as a Gift
That is of Value?
And of Worth?

A simple butterfly
Upon a single flower
Resting
In the shade of a wise oak tree
A soft gentle smile
In friendship