The Lady Of The Bastion Poem by John Lars Zwerenz

THE LADY OF THE BASTION

She slowly brushes back her long, raven tress,
Casually smoking in her grand, palatial room,
Gazing on her bower where the roses are in bloom,
Donning in the blossoming eve an alabaster dress.

The mountains to the south of her bastion
Speak to her of many a romantic thing:
A troubadour might present to her a nuptial ring,
Before the dawn, in chivalric fashion.

And in the scarlet fragrance of the rapturous nights,
She walks among the statues in the marble square,
Where slender fountains rise in the summery air,
Pining as she pines, supplicating the heavenly heights.
And I have seen her wandering there-
My future bride of love and lights,
Sighing a sigh of ardent bliss,
In the leafy shades of longing where I witness
The hope of a pure and sanctified kiss
From the lips of this woman, my goddess.