Moon
I use to stand under a certain tree
And wait
For the hills to perfume their body
And wait
Still for the cold delicious memory
Of night
I use to wait under a certain tree
And bright
Flight of fireflies serenades the silence
But gave my soul so little recompense
For my wait
I exulted only when you came, pure as rain
In the naked sky, you balmed my pain
Flood the gate
And myrtle rose with joy, your white silk dress
Like a soft invisible hand folded on my breast.
Copyright © David Smalling | Year Posted 2012
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment