A Breaking Dawn Poem by Naveed Khalid

Of conjurer's art thy cherubim Wing
too soon shall fade away
from such becharming looks
of another rent at midnight lease,
not least in vain words to profane thee:
of laurel wreath thy myrtle crown
against bright-lit mirror of thy most high deserts,
hath beset many a garden ere thine holy eyen:
while I to whom no such matters whether I love thee,
or naught that by fealty's Apollo to my thought is wed;
of eyes so blind that man-in-the-moon,
I know naught, nor I e'er need to know,
when, what time of the year in mellowing spring
along the pavement of cow parsley,
came to toll the bell at my door with pen-pricked angels,
some dry leaves of book in rosemary garden,
rest content be oblivion of my shipwrecked dreams,
oft steal looks from my bed of crimson joy,
that day I still behold under the Archangel's brow,
else our little john playing upon the sand dunes.

(C) Naveed Khalid

Copy Rights (C) 2015.
All Rights Reserved.

Date Created: Sunday, December 20,2015 3: 47: 01 PM
Sunday, December 20,2015 3: 48: 21 PM

* Title Revised: A Breaking Dawn To A Breakfast Table