RomanticVampire

Under the shield of autumn gold leaves, she sang, knees swaying.  Sing for John, she told us. Sing for everyone. Her purple shrouded arms waved, joining her knees as though her dance alone would cure the country. The candle's for you, she told a man beside her. From John. She said she had a home, but we wondered where and how. Her daily arrangement, when she arrived, was laid around the circle, roses plump and crisp, the candle blown out only when the park lamps lighted at night. She told us of the police and her battle to keep John's flowers from being swept away, of the dogs not on leashes and the homeless man's harassments. She