Blonde Hair Poem by Naveed Khalid

No, not least I seekest full rich thy charms
of bewailing night asleep,
a crowd of host among daffodils,
that from off so deep a slumber
hath rent at midnight lease this world;
a shrub of wrinkled lip in my spilt words,
no dark can e'er illumine beside the bed oak,
e'ery fig leaf in autumn under the Archangel's brow;
against bright-lit mirror of thy most high deserts,
that choking star to my shipwrecked dreams
of woe-begone days her enchanting slogans of disparity,
that tolls the bell at my door of rosemary garden,
away from yellow-pages of history in Cherubim Wing,
of eclipsed doom to bloody tyrant time, our little john,
apart from where you tread the mundane shell,
I still behold my love of seventy winters have thy November.

(C) Naveed Khalid

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Date Created: Wednesday, December 30,2015 1: 08: 56 PM