Inspired by the partial eclipse of the sun: March 18-19, 2007.

Then I will swear beauty herself is black,
And all they foul that thy complexion lack.
Sonnet 132 ~William Shakespeare

A new moon in a halo of light,
a magic mood, ended too soon,
(before it began!) her debutante ball.
And she, something to see,
and he, behold,
though he, himself, a splendid sight.
But blinding beauty on the move,
he barely got close,
nor did she know
she had him in thrall.
The dark lady dazzled all.
She wore her inky slip dress
and ironed her hair,
and underneath, lacy underwire, underwear.
And off she went a-dancing without a care.
A feast for the eyes like the sunrise,
she transformed what was left of his light
into a night,
like a peacock, made up to stare.
But she didn’t see him for the glare.
When it was wondrous to be unaware.

© Helga Ross 2007