Isaac Barton Poems

The clouds o'er mountains drift,
The mountains drip the stream;
Snaking waters will quench the field,
Seeping, weeping their noisy tune
...

Forever ash and blood shall yearn,
To meet, entwine in deathly urn
And dusky paths of wild flowers
Now wilter in Man's receding hours.
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The wise say more of grace
As clocks count down the time,
The photos crease and fade
When youths a distant chime.
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Everchanging sands, cruel and fickle;
She rests in shaded desert trickle
Singing beneath those swaying palms,
Ancient hymns, the antique psalms.
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My love? It grew in dissonance,
So sleeping, all began anew,
In gentle scents of innocence;
I dreamt a Rose of Midnight Blue.
...