Caw, Caw Poem by Naveed Khalid

This world is but of clay and wattle-made thistles
by the stream,
that man-in-the-moon to a rivulet blue,
beside the oak in the late evening,
of fealty's Apollo at my door of rosemary garden,
me not myself to claim a wayfarer's clime, my love,
under the hedgerow of a cottage-tree,
some dry leaves of book in autumn:
heaven-ward bent my shipwrecked dreams,
of laurel wreath thy myrtle crown,
a woodenhouse, where you may dine the table;
a broccoli beneath the bed of crimson joy;
a cloud couch rides the sky of thy most high deserts,
fair weather days in the mellowing spring
of e'ery departed look upon the sand dunes,
no dark that by dark bewails the night
in silent hours of soliloquy
her stumbled feet above the mundane,
along the pavement of cow parsley, our little john,
pricked with a furr coat of plumed hat on knees in ruffled feathers.

(C) Naveed KHalid

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Date Created: Sunday, March 06,2016 5: 13: 49 PM