A beauty of a poem
I love the way it unfolds
Something for the hearts
like two still ponds hidden among trees
brimming with moonlight in the soft twilight
your dark eyes, lashes, bring me to my knees
my songbird heart cannot withstand the fight
my will, it smashes, emotions dart
like pale boomerangs hovering on the breeze
thrown with skill, a dying art
and one quick breath, it snatches
your eyes, your cheeks, your lashes
your mouth, an ember, lips apart
so where i end, there you will start
Regal
Once more the cauldron of the sun
Smears the bookcase with winy red,
And here my page is, and there my bed,
And the apple-tree shadows travel along.
Soon their intangible track will be run,
And dusk grows strong
And they have fled.
Yes: now the boiling ball is gone,
And I have wasted another day …
But wasted – wasted, do I say?
Is it a waste to have imaged one
Beyond the hills there, who, anon,
My great deeds done,
Will be mine alway?
(Thomas Hardy, The Sun on the Bookcase)
Powerful
Touching stuff
YasNiger™ 