A Voice From Grune Woch Poem by Naveed Khalid

Methinks not from dust-cover'd page
of thy book,
outspread in leaves of autumn,
a broccoli, of way too far,
beside the bed of oak, e'ery flower upon
a barren heath,
my shipwreck'd dreams at midnight lease
fill'd with richly colour'd silver
grey angels, my age-old love,
against the setting sun at my door
of rosemary garden,
this world of seventy winters have
thy November, of first frost her falling
snow, so thinly wrapped in white foams
of wrath the sea, a star-y velorum,
hath lit the path of smokey suburbs
by the shabby island,
small minions that arise of cut-out trees
in the rainforest,
still wed to my thought of laurel wreath
thy myrtle crown;
while musing o'er the dale in silent hours
of soliloquy,
her stumbled feet down the lane
in amber woods,
be my only woe of veneral amores
that runs in deep sorrows;
not least my adversaries be part to play
a hunch for the parade,
under the canopy of a hut,
that masonry's bride upon the sand dunes,
hung aloft the ghastly night I behold,
darkly lit in thy abode at clover beach.


(C) Naveed Khalid

Copy Rights (C) 2017.
All Rights Reserved.

Date Created: Monday, January 23,2017.2: 03 PM

* Title Revised: From Avagon To A Voice From Grune Woche

* Grune Woche sounds(Grunge Watch) Green Week or Green River Band

Title Revised: From A Voice From Grune Woche To A Charioteer on Wings