Classic Poem

Strange that she can keep with ease
A pace so free and fleet,
When such relentless destinies
Stalk at her feet.

Strange she does not see the blur
Where their shadows run
With her footfall, sinister
In the sun.

Some are vague as shadow cast
By clouds where long hills dip,
And some sharp like the broken mast
Of a drifted ship.

Still with her incredulous tread
Defying the darkened ground,
She keeps a pace whose echoes shed
Laughing sound.

And still close at her tripping heel
The old shadows stir,
Deepening as they steal