Email Poem

Your IP Address: 18.224.33.135
Your Email Address:
To Email Address:
Subject
Personal Note:
Poem Title:
Poem
A view of the ragged woodland from
The window:-
Slender branched trees that shed
From high above to low below;
The faint, mauven peaks
Smattered with barely visible
Scatterings of drifted snow;
Across the matted undergrowth
A bronzed carpet of copper coloured
Leaves
Whose rusting hue, 
Momentarily ignited by stray 
Sunbeams weakly smouldering,
Briefly refurbished -
Deceives with all the colours of a
Rainbow...
From vibrant red through to shy
Hints of indigo;
Those vague outlines indicating 
Receding hills;
Here, arising, long ago, every waking 
Dawning,
The creaking structures
Of groaning and imposing mills;
Soon a slow thawing that quickly 
Spills 
Into the trickling replenishments 
Of many gushing and silvery little 
Rills.


Enchantment gripped me!
And I found myself wistfully 
Thinking...
Maybe, perhaps, maybe, somewhere,
Just behind where the great 
Flattening Orb
Is now rapidly shrinking,
That I might, by perchance, find, 
If I did so hope to bravely dare,
To happen upon a hidden and 
Sedentary way of life up there?
That, forgotten, has turned its 
Back on the social conflicts 
Plagued by the curses of ingrained
Vice;
Encumbering a soul with its petty 
Squabblings,
Imposing upon with demands and
Avarice...
When placing unnecessary burdens 
On a honest bodies daily call
Of grinding toil and wearisome 
Strife!


And still stood, 
With hands outstretched upon the
Painted sill,
At the waist half-bent,
Now troubled by quiet mutterings
In an inexplicable sorts
Of self-imposed discontent,
My staid consciousness almost 
Unawares, 
As, momentarily distracted,
I hesitated, and, unseeing, 
Inattentively stared...
Until...
A ragged chapter of cawing Daws,
Loudly jabbering overhead,
Suddenly wheeled -
And upwardly soared!
Whereupon, in murderous haste,
Awkwardly fled
When laboriously stealing away
Back inside the stubbled fields...
Thus causing me to slowly straighten;
Whilst, with a singular heartfelt pang,
Liken a moorland mist slowly rolling
Over 
That indivisibly conceals...
Drew shut the sullen curtains, which, 
Heavily embroidered with indeterminate 
finality,
Dejectedly hang...
Each draped aside of the cold 
Reveals.
CAPTCHA Preview
Type the characters you see in the picture
Required