Once a month on the night
Of New Moon
Luna changes her glorious shape
Known as the festival of women
A right of passage for females.
That teeter and totter about
Those halfway to womanhood
The married woman
And who are handicapped
By old age.
They dance in a circle
Beneath the glare of Luna's light
The sound of tambourines
Tapping against hips
As their voices rise in song
To penatrate the heavenly gates.
YOU ARE READING
LOST GIRLS
PoetryThose considering themselves lost girls of society. Godesses of creation among men. Or nymphs of nature. These poems were written for you.
