WRITING FOR A CHANGE 1

While the cats sleep here’s a poem selected more or less randomly from my efforts in the poetical sphere;

Ballad

My lord sits silent in his tower

across the sun-flecked strait,

though all the mountain flowers sing

and angels crowd his gate.

 

My lord stays deep in shadowed fear

across the severing sea,

his face turned from the urgent sun

and dulled his memory.

 

My lord won’t walk the island turf

beneath the open sky,

nor risk upon the tides of chance

his cherished liberty.

 

My lady walks the nearer strand,

she keeps the golden key,

watches the tower’s shuttered face

across the angry sea.

 

She dare not cross the surf-flecked strait

nor brave the island shore;

my lord’s deep dark of weary pain

has barred the heavy door.

 

She’ll dance upon the sand, my lord,

she’ll sing along the shore,

she’ll spin the fine gold shining thread

that twists from her soul’s core;

 

angels shall bear that thread, my lord

across the green dark sea,

and as they lay it at your gate

shall sing of liberty.

 

But wind the frail bright thread, my lord

but walk beneath the stars,

but let the soft moon’s gentle beams

dissolve the tower’s bars.

 

While the mountain flowers sleep, my lord

cross to your lady’s side,

and walk with her in quiet accord

beside the gentle tide.

mediaeval-lady

 

 

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