Marie of Marais

Marie of Marais
Was never that way
The wind swept her by
Calabrian skies.

Her hair in the sun
Bird's tune in her hum
A letter in hand
Shells in the sand.

A poem
A hoot
A night owl
To boot.

A tickle
A fancy
A modern girl
Sandy.

Dressed for the ball
And the man very tall.
Has the power to call
But writes on the wall.

Hair cut so short
So she wouldn't get caught.
Man's laugh in her head
Like he wanted her dead.

The twirl of her hair
The Empress her best
The dance of those shoes
She never wore blue.

Lost in the red
The puzzle it said
The rogue she may dream
Fares a lonely heart scheme.

Marie look away.
She never did say
The kisses were blown
From her lover, her thorn,
Her only life's scorn.

Marie of Marais
Was always that way.
Weak to a dagger
And the touch of his hand,
When he presses it to her
She does how but stand.

In his way
Was his strife
Her green hills
His rhyming with life.

The poetry stayed
But his love for her swayed
From treetop to mountain
And floodgate to ocean.

And there she drowned
On that cold Springtime day
Bloodlet and water
Heart open for slaughter.

Marie of Marais
Whatever they say
A ghost from the past
Will let in the draft.