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

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