Under a bough by the edge of a glen
a blanket of leaves were spread,
His chest became her pillow,
The earth became their bed;
They laid in twinkling shadow,
Their eyes bathed with leaves and sky,
'What e'er shall you do, my Darling, '
she said,
'when next year at this time I've died? '
'I'll pluck from the earth a red rose,
My face will be turned in a frown,
I'll whisper your name o'er and o'er,
And stormingly tears will flow down.'
A most excellent write! I totally agree with Richard, I'll be looking for more. Best CJ
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Beautiful romantic piece of poetry, well articulated and nicely penned with conviction. An insightful work of art, lovely and very passionate. Thanks for sharing, Rob.