This poem only available on Stories Space. If you are reading it elsewhere, it has been stolen.

The gentleman held out his sword,
And told the girl to dance.

"Dance upon this sword, my love,
And sing upon my blade;
Twist the sunbeams into braid
And sing with all your heart.
Show me how you love me deeply,
And dance, and dance, and dance."

And so, the girl, with utmost pride,
Her feet, so pink and bare,
Rose up and danced upon the blade,
And hopped and skipped and jumped.

"It hurts, sir," the girl breathed fast,
And pointed to the cuts
Where the flat of the blade gave way
To a razor edge of lightening.

"If you love me, you will dance,"
The gentleman replied.
And so, the girl danced on.

She danced below the summer sun
And wound the beams into ribbons.
And she danced on beneath the autumn moon
And spread its satin across her ragged skirts.

"I cannot see that my sword looks better
For having you dance on it
If you cannot smile and make me feel
As if my sword is the best of all,"
The gentleman told her.

"But sir," the tired girl replied,
"I am tired and my feet are cut to shreds,
For your blade is sharp and stinging."

"Then, my love, you must dance harder,
And let your blood run free along the edge,
For then I shall see that you give me your all,
And I shall know that you love me true."

And so, the gentleman turned his sword,
And the girl danced upon its edge
With all the love she had.

So passed the winter gloom and gloaming,
And she danced beneath the leaden skies.
So came the spring, with flowers a-budding,
Rich and red and tinted crimson,
And the birds cried folly of her dancing death.

"Fair maid," they squawked,
"What leads you so, to dance upon this scoundrel's blade?"
"For love, I thought," the girl replied,
"But all I have seeps into the earth
And tints the crocus with my heart."

The birds shook their heads and ruffled their feathers,
And still, the girl danced on.

"My love, I am tired of your dance for me,
It is not what I asked of thee,"
Said the gentleman, bored and reclining back against a broken wall.

"But sir," the girl replied, aghast,
"What would you have had me do
When you asked me to dance upon your sword
And show my love for you?"

"I thought it a passing delight," said he,
A shrug on his shoulders and a sneer on his lips.
"Who would wish to see such a hag
Dance upon a blade and show the world her shame?"

And the gentleman retrieved his sword
From beneath her dancing feet,
And wiped it on her ragged skirts
Until no trace of her blood remained
On the shining blade.

There he left her weeping
By the brook in the shadows of the willow trees,
No regret in his soul or tears for her pain,
Or her blood that soaked into the earth
For love of him.

One or two gentlemen came riding by,
And saw the broken mess the girl had become.
"Dance with all you have left," they urged,
And when it became clear that she gave her all,
They did as the first gentleman,
And left her weeping beneath the trees.

"Fair diamond waters," the girl oft pleaded,
"Take me far away. Wash my feet, such as they are,
And bring me sweet oblivion,
For no gentleman shall come along, I know,
And sweep me off these bleeding feet.
No gentleman will take me home
And bless my loving heart.
For all they want is a maid to watch
As she pours out herself for him.
And when he tires of my dance on his blade,
He will leave me here once more."

And the girl, with twittering birds squawking about her ears,
Could not listen to their kindly remarks,
For she knew they only meant well.
They did not mean truth, only scornful pity
For the maid who would dance to her death for love.

The maid could not help, but that her heart was made to dance,
And dance she will, should a gentleman ask,
Before she sinks her wounded heart into the earth
And tints the crocus with her blood once more.

This poem only available on Stories Space. If you are reading it elsewhere, it has been stolen.