She is nearly three,
sparkling wand in hand,
in a pink cotton gown,
the lace dragging ground.
She cries at the lovely
cobalt wings, crumpled in grass,
blue sky fallen to earth.
All celebrated this fragile flutter
when it flew by faces,
brightened by its being,
but its falling was unseen,
(by cyclist concentrating,
car unconcerned),
but by this fairy princess
who, wand waving in vain,
laments this life in its leaving.
About the Poet
Growing up in Abingdon, Elizabeth Semancik White still carries the music of the Appalachian Mountains in her bones, even as she walks through new valleys as a litigator in Atlanta, Ga. She attended Abingdon High School, The University of Virginia, and The University of Virginia School of Law. She is currently working on several new poems about the Scottish Highlands.
