Ballad of the Young Husband

​Six weeks of marriage, a full moon,
   One night I woke alone;
I took my gun, unlatched the door,
   And felt myself turn stone ―
 
Across the pasture ran a trail
   Of footsteps in the dew,
That led toward the upper field
   And then were lost to view.
 
The field was small and walled with trees,
   I stood back on one side,
And saw her dancing there alone,
   All flowered like a bride.
 
Around her naked waist a belt
   Of orange poppies hung
And moved like suns above the corn
   While she swayed and softly sung.
 
She scattered daisies as she went,
   And from her yellow hair
Fell campions and marigolds,
   And I … I did not dare
 
Call from my shadows on the edge,
   Or join her in that dance ―
She seemed complete, entire,
   And happy in her trance.
 
I gripped my gun ― what use was it?
   And left her singing there,
Poppy-clad beneath the moon,
   With flowers in her hair.