Elegy for Weedee

Elegy for Weedee

This is no soft fluff bunny
going gently into that good night.
This is Mother Medea, skinning life's wire.
She has seized the moon in her teeth.

Going gently into that good night,
doesn't quite match her sense of style.
Mere mortals may traverse stages of grief,
this demoiselle dresses only in denial.

This is Mother Medea, skinning life's wire.
Death has taken her by surprise.
When that back porch door finally slams shut
the entire house will shudder.

She has seized the moon in her teeth.
She has believed in nothing save herself.
Weedee, ferocious Weedee is dying.
There is no swift exit here.