Last Joy

An ancient castle’s rowdy crowds were thinned By war and famine. Once its fortress fell To fire, its people left it to the wind. In time, the spirit of its aging well Perceived the surging danger of decay Which mired his quiet will to live within The lonesome corner where his stonework lay. Soon, shadows stretched between him and his kin Along the merry valleys. Then, one day, The winds of long ago began to fade And many birds began to run away From winter’s frozen curse, and gladly made Their nests in trees that quenched their silent thirst Around the dying well, which gladly gave His breath of life and cradled up the first Bright hopes in generations. Thus, the wave Of solitude began to cede its space To greener leaves of future joy and, soon, The castle’s walls—now donned in ivied lace— Became an altar to a rare and sweet perfume Which spread its scent afar beyond the sea. On sensing this, the spirit blessed the ways Of his ancestral home and, glad to see Such joy, he breathed away his final days. Find my poems and published poetry volumes at www.eton-langford.com