A Mud Mask Poem by Naveed Khalid

Of fealty's Apollo at my door her stumbled feet,
above the mundane, so fair thy form,
bereft of sight her charms too shall fade
away from high heavens
e'ery flower upon a barren heath,
not least be worthy of thy perusal,
of laurel wreath thy myrtle crown
against the world of thy most high deserts,
my shipwrecked dreams in rosemary garden:
of chamber's maid her muse still in argument with thee,
less by love be looked than by loving looks depart,
needest not I more scope in such subtle thought,
that shows not half thy part beside the oak,
of woe-begone days under the hedgerow of a cottage-tree
unto the stars in secret influence comment,
that christmas eve we parted unawares,
no heart can afford in solemn or strain this dull rhyme,
our little john, half-way between the carpet upon,
bereaved of what I still hold dear in silent hours of soliloquy,
no thought can e'er illumine in the late evening,
of golden tress his hair upon the sand dunes,
full-fathom five thy battled bones that pelted grave.

(C) Naveed Khalid

Copy Rights (C) 2016.
All Rights Reserved.

Date created: Friday, March 04,2016 4: 12: 04 PM
Friday, March 04,2016 4: 18: 05 PM
Friday, March 04,2016 4: 18: 47 PM
Friday, March 04,2016 4: 36: 36 PM
Friday, March 04,2016 4: 38: 14 PM

Title Revised: From A Bend Too Deep for Woe
To A Personal Spleen To A Mud Mask To A Dark Lady