Silent though your tender thoughts, your eyes reflect the love they sew.
Announcing in their song of silence “My love within does sweetly grow.
No fruit I bear will fall to ground to die without your pleasure.
Does this declare my love? A love too rich too ripe to measure”.
Your smile too enlightens me; there are voices in its glow.
Those voices whisper “I love you” and I embrace each moment so.
On a beating heart alive with joy, I dance, come dance together.
Play your smile for me, it shall be the music. I hope it plays forever.
Sadly though the music stops, and the smile once embracing
Flickers in a wind, chilled with doubt, doubt about the love we’re facing.
I search the eyes, the light has dimmed; their thought are not disclosed.
Enticing them represses them, but I ponder, “is the heart reposed?”
Life and love are companions. Let them journey together enhanced.
Do the eyes not again cast love and the smile again played the song we danced?
Is the fruit you bear growing sweet? Or do you wish to grow old and forget?
Looking back, I remember how strong you can love, looking on, I only regret.
Often, yes, I will look for your love and often I’ll entice and retrieve
Valuable memories to selfishly cherish, for they are a gift so dear to me.
Each day as it dawns I will be happy having once been as one with you.
Yet I pray that my dreams be kind to me and leave them as memories too.
Only I know that my love flows deep, and Sandy, this flow will never end.
Until death I am called I remain loyal, and proud to be with you . . . a friend.
This is a lovely and truthful tribute to real love….not fantasized love.
I am sure Sandy will be touched by your words.
A poem written in the style of the romantic nature poets.
A Scythe’s Kiss
The corn swayed; whispered of a good season.
The heads heavy and plump, nodded golden.
False early Summer was without reason,
Autumn cringed in heat; ripeness embolden.
The sad old scare crow, no longer with sight.
Crows, in sheer mockery, pecked his eyes.
They cawed and shat on him from a great height.
This old man figure but one to despise.
Bright sunny morning chased away the night;
And the wee nocturnal gnawing field mice.
Sun bathed the corn field in its dawning light
Waking the fields for harvest and excise.
All energy contained, comes but to this,
A day of reckoning in a scythe’s kiss.
Libby. Interesting poem. The illusion versus an underlying darker energy ‘the scythe’.
Ladies, I have just received in the mail my copy of “Pride and Promiscuity”,by Arielle Eckstut.
Yes, it’s about Jane Austen’s lost sex scenes… I may be absent for some time….
Pip, you devil you.😛
PS – if it’s raunchy I demand a copy.
Migs, maybe Pip can dog-ear the ‘best bits’ for you.
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