The Ancient

I first saw her standing alone.
Then I noticed others behind her;
shoving her towards the forked road.

They seemed a little afraid of her.
And whispered behind her back,
as they pushed her ahead of them.

When they finally stopped
she stood apart from them;
and I saw her hands were bound.

I never saw who did it.
But in one rustling move,
they stripped her of her green summer gown.

Yet! She made no sound.
Standing straight and unflinching,
as her tormentors whispered
and hooted once more.

Next to fall was her crown of autumn colors.
Rubies,topaz,precious gold,
fell in the mud beside her.

The wind blew hard.
As if all of heaven screamed in pain,
at what they had done.

Her hair now loosened,
caught in the wind.
And streaming behind her,
momentarily, gave her wings.

Those behind her howled
and moaned when they saw,
that someone in earth brown garb
had adorned her feet with Falls last flowers.

Her flesh bore the scars
of a lifetime of living.
Of a mate now dead.
Of babies never grown.

She was the last of a long royal line.
Now disrobed, dishonored and left to die.

Yet, as I gazed upon her,
I knew she would survive.
And in peasants garb,
her queenliness would show.

She would stand naked
against Winters beautiful beast.
Her feet rooted to the frozen ground.

Springs thaw will find her
dressed in a gown of ivy.
Wildflowers growing at her feet.
Her crown replaced with a wreath of leaves,
nurturing new life in her unkempt hair.

She is one of the Ancients.

The last of a long royal line!