and post notes and photos about your poem like Gregory R Barden.
Deep within the highland mists, white heather, bright adorning,
I last beheld those flaring eyes, though tender as the borning.
I'd gone a-hiking, early snow, 'midst headland slopes and fells -
Their lullabies e'er sang to me - far flung from towns and dells.
She haunted castle ruins there, made home its ravaged posts,
And spun her ballet in its bones, round-towers dark as ghosts.
That chilled All-Hallows Eve, I slept within its crumbling seams,
And woke to moon and her above, clothed soft in just its beams.
Oh, never did I swim one soul 'twas sweet and broad as she,
Like plunging deep in starlight, and drowning 'midst that sea.
The whitest heather ever known could not, like her, entrance,
No swirling of the swiftest stream would match her lover's dance.
I saw my breath by moonlight, yet none came from her form,
And while a frost was growing thick, I'd never felt as warm.
Thus as we reached crescendo, I clamped tight both my eyes,
Then opened them to find her gone ... no moon, just barren skies.
Submitted on October 2, 2019
For the "Halloween Moon" Poetry Contest
Chantelle Anne Cooke, Sponsor.
Copyright © Gregory R Barden | Year Posted 2019