“Do not put me on a Pedestal,”
She said, Gentle and Soft.
“Those great heights inspire fear of My Fall,”
Said She, Proud chin aloft.
“If forced to peer down at You below,
the Songs you sang, I’d never know.”
“You don’t seem to understand, My Love.”
Chided I, grinning wide.
“You lifted me to the same Blue Skies.”
Knowing I, Her surprise.
“We are both on this Pedestal, High,
Even floor, Dance again, We Rise.”
Their Dance began.
© All rights reserved, 2016.
Obol is a poet and an infrequent writer of prose.