Adorned in pearls and silver lace,
the moon's tranquility veiled her virtuous face.
A white flowing satin gown she did wear,
as moonbeams touched upon her silver hair.
'Twas beneath the blue moon’s exulted arch,
the night awaiting the sun’s returning march.
I stood upon the sun bleached sands, felt ocean's breeze
of that which took, I dropped down to my humble knees.
Beset of love, in quiet quest of great romance,
where long ago my Mirabelle wistfully danced,
and all the clouds of soft and gentle form,
the stillness round between the heaves of storm.
And there along the soft and golden strand
she momentarily held my quivering hand.
Through the mist of Love of great renown,
the sweetness of her lips 'tis what I found.
And washed ashore the deep blue waves
we marveled at its white cascade
bathed in light of the glistening moon
'twas there our melded souls communed.
It’s but my imagination a passionate dream.
No, never! thou that yet dost lovelier seem
'twas not to be, Mirabelle belonged to another
‘Twas but a lambent flame which I must rent asunder.
Hushed morning.....
A winter scene from my bedroom window
of soft pearled fields sloping to the sea
Rose hips, blood red with white frosting
Naked branches as snow falls from bough to bough
Pale melon sun shines, as a thaw struggles in
A steel grey sky mirrors a stilled ocean
Shadows of Spruce elongate the milk carpet
Pistachio ivy clings to the tree trunks
freezing fog lingers, the feeble sun waning
as a blackbird hops, mirabelle beak pecking
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