A poem that I really am fond of

She Dances
 

She stands in the garden, the winter sun shining, though wispy gray clouds, pass high in the sky, the flowers are blooming, springtime is looming, the breeze gently tinkling, the wind-chimes nearby. Slowly, she twirls, with her arms gently swaying, her dress, flows, in layered chiffon, as she goes, she looks to the sky, gently closes her eyes, moving, to the music, that only she knows. She spins, she dips, she leaps, slowly turning, soft layers of fabric, fanning out, gracefully, gently, shes weeping, while rhythm keeping, her soul, touching something, that no one can see. She waltzes, so gently, ethereally floating, as light as the air,gracefully, as a dove, she, as if holding, her arms, gently folding, they say, around the ghost, of her love. Theres peace, yet sadness, etched on her face, the gentle breeze, drying her tears, as they fall, she spins, slowly wilting, bending and tilting, emotion emiting, the dance, slows, to a crawl. Dance fading, she gingerly,sinks to the ground, wistfully, opening, her misty blue eyes, her vision, still glazes, in the distance, she gazes, her lover, departed, evidenced by her sighs. She rises, reluctantly, walks through the garden, shoulders droop, tenderly, touching a rose, her feelings, she hides, as she heads, back inside, in new morn, she'll again, come to take, her repose.