Stuntman Poem by Naveed Khalid

I'll not go by that man-in-the moon,
of whom they say not I,
ah, but by thy age-old love,
unawares of the world around my head,
hath weaved a laurel wreath thy myrtle crown,
that crow's quill of my shipwrecked dreams;
ere by the time to count more in prayers
of what hath a hold me height in heaven's high bower:
I fain would bring to the page in dry autumn leaves of thy book,
of surpassing wit thy brow at sunset of the evening sky,
far from where I my oars hath sunk in the ocean deep,
there by thy presence alone at Matilda's farm,
of furrowed fields against the harvest moon
e'ery flower upon a barren heath in my bed of crimson joy,
under the hedgerow of a cottage-tree,
that day of unaltered eye beyond the sunrise I behold, I behold!

(C) Naveed Khalid

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Date Created: Friday, September 18,2015 3: 09: 49 PM