She ordered Romeo from

her balcony of happy

endings; what came in the mail

dried dreams to dust, delivered

disillusionment stillborn.

Seeking life in the garden

below reduced love to mere

snake in the grass; unnumbered

shattered crescent moons, galling

tear-stained timekeepers, kept pace

with waning confidence, while

wounds slowly faded, shadows

on the dial. When once she

lifted her head, above thorns

and crafty serpents, True Love

waited there, on silvery

wings. Inhaling sweeter air

gave new dreams fresh purpose; her

songs, sung not from empty purse

but full heart, hold the power

to stir even paradise

lost. From her balcony she

commands nothing, but receives

what the moon delivers as

a legacy wrapped in love.