Congregation Poem by Naveed Khalid

So spake I my woe-begone days
of lost memory to another's plight,
that half-baked masonry's night
along the pavement of cow parsley,
the farmer still works to land,
his age-old love at sunset of the evening sky,
of furrowed fields against the harvest moon,
all wrapped in shroud of a star,
ah, in white bier to brave thine holy eyen:
they led me through the door in rosemary garden,
unawares of the world around my head,
hath weaved a laurel wreath thy myrtle crown,
that bright-lit mirror of thy most high deserts,
behold! of eyes so blind a man-in-the-moon,
down that road in haystack of woods,
that crow's quill of darkling inkpot in ruffled feathers.

(C) Naveed Khalid

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Date Created: Sunday, September 27,2015 1: 56: 41 PM