The Sheep Herder Prince And The Water Siren Poem by Joni Moosman

Each morning now I look for you at the wire gate that goes to the green field.
As the sunrises in all its glory above the cool gray clouds, the swell reveled.
There with your hat and work coat on you smile at me and shake your head.
You see your wife’s become a water siren calling a sailor to her watery bed.
Then you say, ” Clytemnestra, you murdered your husband, with poison I think.”
And I say, ” your not dead yet, ” and it was a knife to his throat.
Our teasing was like candy coated love and Indian ink.

You and I, born in the month of June just a day and eight years apart
Our plants aligned to make a perfect astrological star chart
Like Castor and Clytemnestra we are the mortal twins in the night sky.
Born in the swan’s egg, the color of warm cream poured over Cherrie pie.
Each night naked we crawled into our cradle which rock on the sands of time.
There you would hold your lips to my long hair, and wrap your legs around my thighs.
Your soft breathing was my lullaby an eternal rhyme.

Your voice whispered to me, my sheep herder prince with the crown of ebony curls.
And I would whisper back, ” I will never ask you for treasures or Pearls.”
You have captured my heart and I would be your eternal femme fatale.
Forever we would be a Greek tragedy a simple, but complex tale.
Sheepherder prince who brought a twisted river root to a water siren so long ago.
A simple gift, a treasured love knot made of water and wood.
Which now she sleeps with in the depth of her watery grotto..

Each morning now I look for you at the wire gate that goes to the green field.
As the sunrises in all its glory above the cool gray clouds, the swell reveled.
There with your ebony curls and white robe on you smile at me and shake your head.
I see were the veil is thin and I no longer call you to my watery bed.
Then you say, ” My loves I go to another field were the sheep are many, I think.”
And I say, ” I will miss you. Till I find all my tears in this stormy sea.
Our love will always be like candy coated love and Indian ink.

By Joni moosman