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.
From: http://www.poetryatlas.com/poetry/poem/2351/
Date: 1920
By: William Haskell Simpson (1858-1933)
From Troubles of The World 