(Inspired by George Romney’s Miss Willoughby, oil on canvas, painted 1781-83 – British artist.)
Mercy should be her name.
For you who are so ill
this angelic girl waits, alone,
beyond pain’s reach, with outstretch arms.
Standing on a hill,
where leaves fall in arabesques,
she beckons. Her lips glow like
raindrops on begonia petals;
her puffed dress,
white as cotton-grass, shimmers.
She pleads for your life’s calm surrender,
to step inside her eternal world of charms.
Dark pools shine in her eyes
like deep-woods ponds at dusk,
and pink ribbons around her waist flutter.
Silent, patient, joyful,
she nods her head, affirms
the time has come
to hold her hand — join her.
Faint wisps like cherub wings
drift above hushed blackbirds
flying behind her bonnet.
With her and while the gold
windswept meadow bends toward
a dwindling dirt road,
at last death comes.
Ribbons, her transparent form
and your soul meld, while
borne on the final breeze,
you soar.
Gregory E. Lucas has had short stories and poems published in many magazines such as The Ekphrastic Review, Ekphrasis, The Horror Zine, The Literary Hatchet, and Blueline. He lives on Hilton Head Island, South Carolina.