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As I sit here,
staring at this page,
rattling in its cage,
is an idea,
a place to far to go.
The page wants to know,
but I’m not telling.
How like a rose twice blessed with love and care,
my Springtime blooms beneath her mother’s arms.
Unknowing yet of all the world must bear.
Still kept from temptful Sin, his wiles and charms.
New gurgles trip and stumble from her lips.
She rises, steps and crashes with delight,
for all’s a wonder on her little trips,
the world’s made new before her precious sight.
And yet one day I weep to think she’ll find,
beyond the fabled waters and the wild,
the truth I’ve hid away, the world’s unkind.
So Heaven keep my light-adoring child.
Behold a miracle and watch her grow.
Innocent now, but someday she must know.
Diaphanous the smile that snares my heart.
The stars within her eyes portend our bliss.
Sweet daughter, Springtime, child of light and art.
The sun and stars are ashen, matched with this.
Still bitter is the world wherein I rest.
Yet I would stroll through Hades for her sake.
Her balmy laugh, her kiss upon my crest,
make luminous existence, once opaque.
As ever I am blessed in Winter’s grace,
whose beauty taught my eyes the way to love.
Come see what was begun in her embrace,
more fair than all the baubles strung above.
So lips that formed the phase “the world’s too dark”,
now bear the ancient blessing of the lark.
Thanks to all of you The Beautiful Path can now claim over three hundred views and scores of followers. We just wanted to stop and say how much we appreciate it. Trust me, none of this is possible without you.
My hand in hand with solemn Winter’s own,
I gently dance upon the crusted lake.
Though she should reave my spirit, flesh and bone,
her way is mine. The form I’ll not forsake.
Beneath the endless diamond-studded night,
I draw her snow-kissed whispers to my soul.
Shroud only in the pallor of the light,
we two shall die apart and rise, a whole.
Entwined within the arms of that good night,
a vision in the waters and the wild,
with coy advance seduces my poor sight:
an imp like springtime, wondrously mild.
And shall I plant in Winter impish Spring?
Who dares deny when Nature her songs sing?
A poem inspired by William Shakespeare’s The Two Gentlemen of Verona
She loveth not the liar who forsook,
a thousand oaths when once she graced his sight.
Whose heart, worm-fed and rotted,undertook,
to name his friend from Adam lost to light
Who tombed his forlorn Julia in earth,
to lay his suit before a brighter sun.
Tis pestilence to her, his praise and mirth,
for she who bore it last and now is dun.
Her winds chastise his heart to no avail.
“Thou cur! Repent and find thy blessed love.”
“Thy blessed love” stands nigh in borrowed veil,
and whispers thanks and praise for Heaven’s dove.
O feckless mistress! Love, thou art unkind.
Such misery hast thou from joy refined.