The Vision
by Debra Spronz


She was misty moonlight
As she floated along the culvert,
Ethereal with breathtaking beauty.
I watched her dance in the air.
With the grace of an angel
She ascended to the top
Of the light post.
The night owl stared at her
Through deliberate eyes
As she beguiled him
With her gossamer charm.
It seemed an eternity
Before she took her place
Back on the ground.
Unware was she
That I stood speechless
Watching her pirouette
Or
Perhaps she knew
That she had an audience.
I would never know.
Several years ago
On a rainy night,
Newly engaged
She had set out to meet
Her new family.
Instead, she drove
Into the culvert
And she died.
Was she real?
Or
Was she a vision?
And
Did it matter?






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