Under the stern gaze of the summer moon
my big sister, Juliet to Romeo,
Cathy to her Heathcliff,
slid each night on the porch's sloping roof
down to Lovers' heaven
below our bedroom window.
Little sister hugged the secret
into her midnight pillow,
waited for the tap of stones on glass
then flitted like a ghost to unlock doors
and let big sister in
from her illicit play.
Now that romance has flowered,
yielded fruit and withered all away,
I wonder, does a ghostly
tapping on the glass
disturb the dreams of sleepers in that room
whenever moonlight silvers trees and grass.
Hello Janice and just a word to commend you on this very passionate and mysterious poem. Great work! Loyd
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Some wonderful comparisons, 'Juliet to her Romeo', 'Cathy to her Heathcliff'. The thread of doomed love weaves deftly through the lines of this wonderful poem. The wistful, melancholic atmospere of these admirable words; 'Now that romance has flowered, / yielded fruit and withered away' stay with the reader long after the closing line. This is a truly haunting poem - a real privilege to read. S :)