Gautami Phookan

June Bells Flowering Under The Tress

Scarce had it rain'd - blue hued
drops showering down;
in the witching hour I rode,
where the earth is overrun by weeds,
yellow fringed with black-eyed-susans;
trees overhung with wild cherries.

Pacing past the sequester'd glen,
following the trail where tall beeches grow:
long sleeved and long limb'd;
and leaves falling in curling frills.

Then I heard a merry song; sweetest tune
enough to make a maiden swoon;
soon turning round a winding bend,
a field of dripping june bells;
I sighted them, a thousand and more
in blue slippers scatter'd wide.
Seated myself on a moss cover'd stone,
as one aptly does after a long ride.

Somewhere beats an earthly heart,
someone breathes a heaving sigh;
Eyes turn to the darken'd clouds hanging by,
and to the lowering skies;
then far to the place where airy spirits roam,
and to the sepulchred ground
where unruffled I lie in my grave,
under the tufts of june bells.


Submitted: Tuesday, April 15, 2014
Edited: Tuesday, April 15, 2014

Topic of this poem: death

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  • Rookie - 398 Points Giorgio Veneto (4/21/2014 10:44:00 AM)

    A definition of how magnificently a poet can write. The free verse is excellent. I am smiling approvingly; congrats on the poem and the rare talent of the poetess. (Report) Reply

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