Some do they taunt me with such subtle reality
of the mind,
sentinels of her first falling winter snow,
of e'ery departed look in haystack and straw,
soon will settle on thy brow that conspires
against the sun of our common affairs,
in whose age-old love at my door
e'ery flower upon a barren heath in cold serene,
oft steal looks from my bed of crimson joy:
beside the oak her stumbled feet upon the sand dunes,
half-way between the carpet upon in nurslings
of immortality,
needest not thy iron car at Matilda's farm
in full bright summer;
such darling buds of may in the late evening,
mere wild wagoner's wheel in rust,
still wed to my thought this world;
away from high heavens thy most high deserts
o'erturned by time and tide to my shipwrecked dreams
in much too wreckage of a nerve,
of eyes so blind that day of unaltered eye,
full fathom-five thy battled bones unto the spine
of a book leaf in autumn, I behold, I behold.

(c) Naveed Khalid

Copy Rights (C) 2016.
All Rights Reserved.

Date Created: Sunday, June 19,2016 12: 08: 57 AM

by Naveed Khalid

Other poems of KHALID (642)

Comments (2)

Michael, you have a wonderful muse.
No Worries! ....Be Happy! ....Love from David