Dance of the Dust Witches, by William H. Simpson

Dance of the Dust Witches

Are you not weary,
O desert dust witches?   I cannot see who waltzes with you
In close embrace--
But your lips meet hotly in kisses,   Your hair is disheveled,
Your ribbons are flying,
Your skirts are in tatters.   The music you dance to--
It comes from fiddles bewitched. - William H. Simpson