Enchanted Tatters

Ron Koppelberger

Enchanted Tatters

She was gracefully ragged in silky gray dusk and dream heavy eyes; her solace was a burden advanced by the sweet nectars of a dandelion field, borne by the easy winds of chance. A spirit in magic acclaim, her soul took nothing for keep, yet the beauty of a million petals rained in glorious union with her tattered vesture and her frayed seams. She was adorned in love and cool whispers of crème, sugary tastes bidden by her passion and her suffering tears. She found a wanton touch of silk bound in the midst of blossoms and enchantment, near the sustenance of love.
She strayed and troubled the gift of betrothal unto a weary traveler, in happenchance, by the trail through the dandelion field and leading to the ramshackle cottage of her birth. She stood in eye to eye assessment with the stranger and the thirsty young man, “Have ye need for rest?” she questioned her husband to be.
“Yes, dear maiden , by yer way I’ve found the peace of the angels and my love, my wife, my respite.”
She silently consented with the young prince and grew old with his hand, nevertheless the dandelions still sang in fields of saffron glow by the beauty of her heart and the memory of a rare tattered enchantress.