She wept beneath a summer sky,
The stars her spattered tears.
Though ageless, she still felt the pain
Of all those passing years.
The dryad wept for all the young
That she had never bourn
And for the dreams, once rich and green,
That from her life were torn.
She wept for all the things undone
Before her life was bound;
She wept for all the songs unsung,
Their silent, voiceless sound.
The Dryad wept for summers past
That only she recalls;
She wept for all the streams she’d known,
Their rills and frothing falls.
She wept for autumn’s golden leaves,
All twined within her hair
And for the snows of winters gone
That left her branches bare.
When she was done she dried her eyes
And reached up to the sky;
She plucked the moon to be her heart
As it was passing by.
For it is cold and never feels
The pain of passing years;
And if new stars should fill her eyes
They won’t splash down as tears.
