There Is a Meadow
There is a meadow of eternal seasons.
with climes weening a tempered breeze
four moons night-bright;
a shade for sitting and kissing
neath oaken mistletoe ----
a place to grow old
with golden children born,
when all without is war
There is not a hill to bound,
nor fortuitous crest to mount;
there is a path among friends
cool in the winnowing wind,
And a song most melodious for thy footfall
lute and string;
from thy tongue, a tune
of olden din,
thy lips, with honest hope
a thousand violins;
Just beyond the hard places
and rocky roads
(there is a meadow)
Copyright © Keith O.J. Hunt | Year Posted 2014
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