See! how else I so fairly lost sight of thee,
that e'ery loving grace
of surpassing wit thy brow,
that becharms the skies
of woe-begone days my shipwrecked dreams
beyond the sunrise this world
of thy most high deserts
hath rent at midnight lease in waking hour:
e'ery flower upon a barren heath,
no dark can e'er illumine ere thine unweird eyen
full glorious sun of our common affairs,
beside that crow's quill upon the sand dunes;
of passion worn her stumbled feet
shall wear out soon against the harvest moon
in the backyard of my garden,
of virgin mother born in the late evening,
of eclipsed doom to bloody tyrant time,
our little john o'er the dale with pen-pricked angels,
that day of unaltered eye,
hung aloft the ghastly night,
I still behold along the pavement of cow parsley,
some such snowflakes of seventy winters have thy November.
(C) Naveed Khalid
Copy Rights (C) 2015.
All Rights Reserved.
Date Created: Tuesday, November 17,2015 1: 04: 33 PM
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem