No, not in parting so, entombed within
her night-long love,
so fairly lost scope of days that are gone
in my bed of crimson joy,
a broccoli, of wayfarer's clime,
outspread in leaves of autumn,
beside the oak of first frost
her falling winter snow;
down the lane in amber woods
against the setting sun at my door,
this world of rosemary garden!
of plucked parsley, e'ery flower upon
a barren heath,
half-way between the carpet upon,
small minions that arise at clover beach,
can ne'er illumine my shipwrecked dreams
under the Archangel's brow;
pricked with a furr coat in the cellar-barn,
thy iron car at Matilda's farm,
mere wild wagoner's wheel in rust,
of laurel wreath thy myrtle crown,
weighed down by my bagpies,
the heavy girdled loins took the toll
from a far-maddening crowd,
smokey suburbs by the shabby island,
of untouched grace thy most high deserts.
(C)Naveed Khalid
Copy Rights (C)2016.
All Rights Reserved.
Date Created: Saturday, December 24,2016.3: 25 PM
Title Revised: From A School Bell To A School Boy
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