Gutenberg Poem by Naveed Khalid

Lord! not least can I think thee better off my mind
that in whose love of woe-begone days
e'ery flower upon a barren heath,
beyond the sunrise to my shipwrecked dreams
hath rent this world of thy most high deserts,
shows not half thy part of eyes so blind,
her cherubim Wing of a butterfly in rosemary garden:
besmeared with time upon the page is printed, printed
against blessings of fealty's Apollo at my door,
more temperate than darlling buds of may,
our little john of harplings upon the sand dunes,
that by counting more in prayers at Minerva's golden brow;
unto the stars in secret influence comment
of what I write in thy graceful ease beside the oak
away from departed look in the late evening,
that man-in-the-moon thy gilded monument astounds,
of smokey suburbs by the shabby island
under the hedgerow of a cottage-tree,
a merry-weather day in the mellowing spring.

(C) Naveed Khalid

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Date Created: Friday, January 22,2016 6: 55: 25 PM