A Dance Melancholy And Slow

She sits on the bank of a slow moving stream.
The breeze blows her hair to and fro.
She searches the depths neath the stones and the leaves,
Wondering where did the fairy tales go.

She walks crowded streets with her eye on the clock,
No time to indulge in her dreams.
Her days are all shaded in patterns of gray,
And everything's less than it seems.

She lights candles over a dinner for one,
Macaroni and cheese and light beer,
Repeating the day's events to her cat,
Who catlike, pretends not to hear.

She looks out her window at soft falling snow,
Coffee cup warming her hand,
Remembering all the connections she's missed.
This wasn't the life that she planned.

She offers her world a bittersweet smile,
Accepting what she cannot change,
And passes from youth to old age fore her time.
The loneliness makes us all strange.

Our days play like music upon hidden strings,
Composing each verse as we go;
A melody played in a soft minor key,
A dance melancholy and slow.