BM (26-03-45 / Salford, England)

A Little Boy In The Morning

He will not come, and still I wait.
He whistles at another gate
Where angels listen. Ah I know
He will not come, yet if I go
How shall I know he did not pass
barefooted in the flowery grass?

The moon leans on one silver horn
Above the silhouettes of morn,
And from their nest-sills finches whistle
Or stooping pluck the downy thistle.
How is the morn so gay and fair
Without his whistling in its air?
The world is calling, I must go.
How shall I know he did not pass
Barefooted in the shining grass?

User Rating: 3,1 / 5 ( 45 votes ) 3

Comments (3)

This is a wonderful and beautifly worded piece Bill. It reeks of English style, in its metaphor (The sea) and its structure. I have, sometimes, railed against the English style for its parochialism, but this work cannot be seen as that. At one time, poets, painters, noveslist, saw the seaa a metaphor for British power. You seem to use it in the way that some have used the image of a flowing stream: to illustrate a changing world. Wonderful, Bill, simply wonderful.
Worth a 10 again Bill. Lovely expressed write, beautiful words woven together so well. Love Ernestine XXX
Very well said, I loved it! ! You have such a feeling for this poem! I hope that you keep this up you just might have a new fan :)