Artisan Poem by Naveed Khalid

No, not thy summer's dream,
that he who sees it will die,
nor the light that casts a shadow
can e'er live without thee:
look at the sun! it does not go away;
and everything remains fore'er
in the eyes of the lord;
look at the golden ring!
it is still a burning bush,
like a moor through the hills
in many splendid ways,
wherein our Poet sits brooding
o'er the dale, down the lane
in amberwoods;
for those threads of thought
which weave a silken satin
around his head at noon,
are closely connected stars
in elevator type passages,
whence oft he visits us
in silence of the night,
when he us'd to play,
make castles in the air;
but no more! no more love
of his wonderland can be.

(C) Naveed Khalid

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