I saw a harpist; now let's get this straight...she was not a harpy by any stretch of the imagination, but a harpist. 

 

 

I was not pissed but I wrote a poem about her

 

. First draft..needs refining. Now if i was really clever I would make the form of the poem the shape of the harp.

 Mmmmm there's a thought. 

 

 Here it is: 

 Harpist in Spring 

 

 

 

 When Delath seated herself 

 she planted her feet not in rich loam

 but either side of the three-legged instrument 

Like a spinner at the wheel. 

Pulling the resisting frame back into her embrace 

 She spun magic 

From long strings of winter. 

Caressing silver strands and coaxing melody from Springs long past. 

 The harp sang 

as she wove her spell of warmth, sunlight and dew covered valleys, 

shining green hills, with bright streams. 

Dust motes danced around, fairies in the haze. 

 Spring skipped into our room with calm and quiet 

 and the certainty of new starts. 

 We listened in silence, robing ourselves anew in ancient tongues, 

 melody whispered from aeolian harps long gone. 

 Two delicate hands sounding like many instruments.

 Pegged and veneered.

 One speedy as the returning swift

 The other slow and sensuously paced. 

Let the ancient song flow 

Engorged streams 

Fast and bright 

Filling the hall with spring.