It's sometimes a curse to have to write these
VELMA DE SELBY BOWEN
Soaring like larks, strong as bridge cable steel,
sweet as the darkest honey, velvet tone.
Her voice could fool you – you and you alone
the one she sang to. She could make you feel
lost in a darkened theatre. The spot
upon her, and you gazing. Not asleep
but lulled by lullaby. Rocked in the deep.
She'd laugh and wake you. Music cool and hot
and wild as fire and thrilling as thin ice
shatters beneath but does not let you drown.
And then his voice joined hers, hers up, his down
would twine – they sang their love. Just once or twice
I heard them. Sometimes hear their voices still.
Whimsical greedy death chose her to kill.