A Rustic Stroll Poem by John Lars Zwerenz

A RUSTIC STROLL

Far from the village, I searched for my bride.
I left for the meadows, for old, wooden mills
In tall, yellow grasses of the wild countryside,
In the holly green lap of fragrant hills.

In the soft, florid still of a vast, marble square
I heard from the hills cathedral bells ring.
While high above the daffodils songbirds did sing.
And I found a rare
Champagne
Roving in the rain
Where I met a lady fair
With a long, sable mane.

There I drank from the pool of her raven eyes
A cool, flowing bourbon beneath effluent skies
Which she poured into mine in the silence of the dark;
It was a fine choice wine which I sipped more than twice
As the sacred hymns of paradise
Ascended in the park.

John Lars Zwerenz