Of a Still Winter's Morn
In stillness of a winter morn,
A carriage passed me by,
Treading a path old and worn,
Upon it's wheels sore and dry;
The air about had a listlessness,
I heard no other noise
Than the passing hooves of a steed,
And my inner voice...
No birds in trees about that house
Whose porch I sat-in, ever spoke
Early in that break of dawn,
So I looked when the silence broke:
A little distance away, and it
Crawled to an awkward halt;
The horse, giving a plunge in the air,
Jerked and fumed in water and salt.
Out came a lady old--
Worn as the wearied wheel--
Followed by the silken robes
Of a beauty most surreal.
In all youth then, i never saw
A maiden so fair and pure;
I watched in awe as the women both,
Approached at my door.
In ecstasy beheld my heart
The temple of this Moon
Shrouded by her hair, like night
Working up a rune.
Smiling, bowing graciously
Like simmering warmth in the cold,
She spoke to ask which way led
To the house of(a name she told)...
Still in awe, I arranged for chairs
For my visitors to sit;
Over cheerful cups of tea,
I told what place was it.
And before, they took my leave,
I thought i had to say,
''Do stop-by this place
Once more on thy way'':
Those eyes passed a lively glance,
As if to say, ''I will'',
She finally left on her way
And left me standing still...
Bright was the day, and the next ones too--
I rested for the Dame:
Spring and summer, winter came
But she never came...
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
