A Bow In The Bush Poem by Naveed Khalid

What needest I this world
down the lane in amber woods,
of e'ery departed look in the late evening;
beside the oak in largess of
some thought alone, sweet maid,
dry leaves of book in autumn,
brings forth nothing but what I write,
so off-hand to my sightless view:
e'ery flower upon a barren heath
under the Archangel's brow at my door
of rosemary garden, fell from a bough;
while musing o'er the dale in my bed
of crimson joy, small minions that arise
in silent hours of soliloquy,
above the mundane, of way too far
a golden clime on top of the tree,
took me o'er, me not myself to claim,
first frost of falling winter snow
against the setting sun my shipwrecked dreams,
of laurel wreath thy myrtle crown;
a broccoli, from yellow-pages of history,
oft steals looks through e'ery looking glass
that shows not half thy part,
away from high heavens to my mind still
her night-long love hides from eternals,
of what the star in secret influence comment
at day of Christmas eve,
hung aloft the ghastly night I still behold,
of ages that are dead upon the sand dunes,
less by love be look'd through this imprint
of thine holy eyen,
much too rendered in age-old grey,
that half-baked masonry's bride.

(C) Naveed Khalid

Copy Right (C) 2016.
All Rights Reserved.

Date Created: Friday, November 11,2016.5: 22 PM

Title Revised: From Blessings of Love To A Bow in the Bush