The dulcet rays of summertide extend
Their wings below the wavy crowns of trees,
Where slabs of stone adorn a path and blend
Their way across a kingdom owned by bees.
Across the waterfall, a house of stone
Stands quiet by the ivied moorland, where
The human footstep often strides alone,
Though crescent moon beams always visit there.
I’m like a raven on a branch of life,
Distrustful of my fate and of my ways,
Yet knowing that more clever is the knife
Of time, than any fox who sings my praise.
Alone with my own thoughts, protected by the heights
Of oak and elm trees, where I lie in sleep,
I feel unknown: untouched by all the lights
Spread out by stars from their celestial keep.
Across the fallows and the firths I fly
On ample whiffs of wistful stupor quelled
By the recess of chaos when I try
To tame fierce words whose ore was never welled.
As rain and winds might shred tall peaks to dust,
So does the world grow old and rise anew
Though, by sheer mutability, it must
Reveal its secrets to a chosen few.
Find my poems and published poetry volumes at www.eton-langford.com
Copyright © Eton Langford | Year Posted 2016
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