In Waiting

In the end ‘twas but a jest,
Jesting as lovers do.
But from the start I lov’d thee best,
Bath’d in morning dew.

Whereupon the days grew long,
The festival began;
An explosion of mirth and dirge,
Woe, corruption, élan.

A darkie there, and no light here,
A faintly lit maiden fair,
And a King with no respect;
I whisper’d in his ear.
I scream’d at him at the top’my voice,
As much as Ogma would let me.
I roar’d: ‘Get thee thither! ’
‘A was a shiver and a quiver,
To that end- no more.

Of that deed that must be done,
I fear I am too late;
But, my friend, we are so young,
This distracted mind can wait.

Wait, wait and wait:
I do prophesy to spend eternity in waiting.
This Poesy shall my mind placate,
And prevent it from writhing.

But still I see thee,
In the warble melodious tunes,
The raindrops describing your beauty,
On the petals in runes.

The figments, shadows, cast
By the lone moon rise
Make contempt of my longing,
And paint your sweet blue eyes.

My love, I shall wait for thee,
And thy benediction,
Nymph of my heart, and my thoughts,
Make quick our coalition.

by Cúcídh Mac Cuagh

Other poems of MAC CUAGH (9)

Comments (2)

The incredable virtue of fatience has been well expressed in this poem. Well done my friend.
whoa man that was pretty sweet! the old school writing style was a nice touch keep it up :)