The Reappearance of the Dew
No summer was the longest and hottest despite the visible stars,
and with scarce rain...no dew dripped from flowers
as they lost moisture and pitilessly died under the moon's glare!
No days were more meaningless and worthless as my were:
without a sweetheart to fondle and kiss,
all the starry nights were a surely miss!
Didn't she desire to be with me and sing
as lovers of a past age did? And which romantic words
she liked the most as this poet made them ring...
like bells that tinkled while knights trusted their swords?
How their Mesdames watched the battle
from a stone castle so fortified and ample!
If I had been a true knight, surely pride and valor
would have been a display of my armor...
and with drew glistening on it as frost,
I would have seemed more invincible than a ghost!
Trees without dew seemed faces without tears,
no birds or butterflies perched or flew on them to scatter all bees...
Mother Nature hopelessly waited and engaged in a long lament,
as I sadly hummed an unhappy song which sorrow sent!
My meadow was dry as the dunes of a wind-swept desert,
and although nights were mild and silent as a lifeless world:
no warmth came from inside, no finger stroke a single cord;
now that the dew has reappeared, everything will turn into mirth!
Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2011
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