it was colder yet, the day after,
though years later, from the Eve.
The mice, early move through
the back rooms, on kitchen floor, tip toe.
The windows iced over, and the frosted free
car glass windows, take their engine time
to clear.
And I cannot find my Keats compilation,
with Lamia, Isabella, and
the Eve of St. Agnes to read in tribute.
Later found, I read again the story,
the patient cold fingers
telling beads, 'Ah Porphyro, Ah Madeline'.
I am taken by this poem, its perennial theme,
of Romeo and Juliet, or Romeo and Romeo, and
Juliet and Juliet, and prose, fancy beating hearts,
and longing, of loves desire, the spring coil wanting.
Romeo, one who loves, a compilation.
For it is ever thus, sadness of loss and longing,
and faded hearts, and worried brow, dance onwards
through times, and its residue, in loves memory, recall.
Ah desire.
Long time long to Valentine.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Wonderful write. Enjoyed this much Bernard.