OPPOSITE my chamber window,
On the sunny roof, at play,
High above the city's tumult,
Flocks of doves sit day by day.
Shining necks and snowy bosoms,
Little rosy, tripping feet,
Twinkling eyes and fluttering wings,
Cooing voices, low and sweet,-

Graceful games and friendly meetings,
Do I daily watch and see.
For these happy little neighbors
Always seem at peace to be.
On my window-ledge, to lure them,
Crumbs of bread I often strew,
And, behind the curtain hiding,
Watch them flutter to and fro.

Soon they cease to fear the giver,
Quick are they to feel my love,
And my alms are freely taken
By the shyest little dove.
In soft flight, they circle downward,
Peep in through the window-pane;
Stretch their gleaming necks to greet me,
Peck and coo, and come again.

Faithful little friends and neighbors,
For no wintry wind or rain,
Household cares or airy pastimes,
Can my loving birds restrain.
Other friends forget, or linger,
But each day I surely know
That my doves will come and leave here
Little footprints in the snow.

So, they teach me the sweet lesson,
That the humblest may give
Help and hope, and in so doing,
Learn the truth by which we live;
For the heart that freely scatters
Simple charities and loves,
Lures home content, and joy, and peace,
Like a soft-winged flock of doves.

Cockcrow harbour:
the gulls whining like tethered dogs
about rooftops
paliophobic cars and
grounded vessels..
Look:
on the hoary horizon
a glaucous strip
beguils
with backwater.
Not putting on a show
the frigid sea benumbed..
Easily,
with a tail of emerald jelly
skim a vanishing lane off that
lustrous sheet
and watch
the trailblazing mainland
scuttle.

Now,
Only scattered dreaming is possible.

In it's bachelor pad,
cradling over crinkles,
away from the meretriciosness
of validating the real by sharing it,
THE WIND
blusters off any veneer.
Here,
stale but spry,
fare your way around the inoffensive isle
to it's most shyest of harbours:
a mouth full of silver
saving it's breath.
The windows facing the sea
seem
black & white,
their wooden frames hooked to the wind,
the splattered gulls meow
your name
in a way
that's
personal.
Of course comes to mind.
The pines
are demanding a visit,
They're whispering
so you can hear them,
each as different as every snore,
these pines know
how to grow in the sand
and still reach for
the Nimbostratus with heads in unison.
The spaces
between their trunks illuminating
the blazing needles
raining down
painting the ground
familiar
to your lover's
skin texture:
Feel her closeness
from jilted borderwatchtowers
as she speads her mire
like no one's watching:
weedy and sugared
with bellflowers,
the waves in her shallow armpit
billeting a pair of white swans:
demurely they float
sometimes as pillows and sometimes
as question marks..
Go ask the seasoned locals,
they say the bones she parked
when she let her ice sheet melt
are portals
to her noble underbelly.

Hidden in the woods
reminiscent of your heart,
the red
tank-sized stone
is sealed,
but what the lighting reach cannot
the rain shall sluice apart
dumbly.
And though her hair has
come to be
the moss
black and hoarse
as sailor's beard,
there is still time.
The void says
her noisy neighbour is nothing
to die for.
The theadbear car with absent doors
incites
to drive her
in reverse gear
to the first few
days of holidays:
her golden locks a-blaze,
her arm around your
hind-sighted doppelganger.

The shyest prize
who sings, but lies,
climatically waves
as she bats her eyes.

With her head held high
the sun can shine,
yet within her dismissal
she'll finally hide.

On display, in such-
a courageous way.
She pretends to be
the smile she fakes.

Inadequate- she'll say.
Trembling with fear
you cannot read
on her face.

The shyest prize,
she sings, yet lies,
falsifies the fear,
and pain in her eyes.

Serene- complete.
She only ventures- to be.
Plays this role
nobody can see.

I saw you on the news again, aiming lies at civilians
You work like a serf to abhor the herd, which was merged by Lords to bore and encore, like a trap door in a dungeon.
What you earth and managed has got me famished, like the dense or pretentious, the meek and the senseless
And type endings to the finest that cry less, the winos that digress, or the shyest who digest
The plate which was purchased, paid to feed liars by the loudest were poisoned by us rebels running incense to the proudest.
Violently passive when distracted, these masses wreck havoc to have their heads handed to them
Sullen sweet to deter, you lure and reserve what is versed or inferred or implied or implored
Like the goodbyed or complied or the ladies waiting with lunacy lining their luxury gowns
Your disheveled and neat demanding appearance has me locked down with pirates and principle pilots
Dulled sick, they spy less, echo with insist, enlist and exist
As terrorists and presidents
Marked with malice making misfits that were mocked and disgraced, maced or laced by daydreams and magicians to assist beggars behind blueprints constructing islands
Which make slaves in to riots that capture journalists under wide tense
To suspend or impend doom sent hell bent by your priestess
You conduct chaos with fast hints, but quit slow when engaged with your conscience
Touched by divine tricks
Decided and destined, best in business
Prince of the wise man
Captain of the compassionate
Comrades with the crack heads singing anthems in kingdoms
We are heartbreakers painting bad graffiti

Maybe I'm meant to be a wallflower,
Watching others grow.
Lurking in their shawdows,
Constantly keeping low.

Maybe I'm meant to be a wallflower,
Plucking my petals one by one.
Praying that maybe I'll be picked,
Cause I have never seen the sun.

Maybe I'm meant to be a wallflower,
It's my destiny to be alone,
I think that by now its obvious,
My future is set in stone.

Maybe I'm meant to be a wallflower,
The shyest of them all.
I know that I will never branch out,
I am meant to stay this small.

Wallflowers can be beautiful,
That I know is true.
And I don't mind being a wallflower,
Because I kind of like the veiw.

prefer celery to carrots
light scrunch over an orange hard crack,
straw red over berries bluest,
coffee over tea,
skies white clouded
over
all clear, unadulterated uni-tone,
blondes, brunettes, redheads,
even pink or blue haired,
well, ain't going there
(wink wink,
too smart for that...)

but that's just me

colors viral virulent  over manhattan grey~black,
a good Pinot over a glass of Jack,
beach and sea undefined
over lake delimited, outlined bounded,
ocean caught fresh over farm raised,
city slick over country sweet,
striped bass over monk,
tuna bests salmon,
but both miso coated please...

Italian Indian Ethiopian
Sushi and occasionally Chinese,
all grand,
but my kosher deli and dogs, pickles,
yellow mustard ball parked,
tops them all
especially when serving
all-you-can-eat
over tasting portions...

but that's just me

right over left,
naked better than ****,
polite over rude,
Rembrandt tops Vermeer,
but his light nonethess,
extra over ordinarie...

Swiss over white American,
Gruyere beats goat cheese,
citrus tops apples,
sweet melon my
secret passion,
paprika and oregano,
never ever cilantro,
milk over OJ,
especially, grade A
milk of human kindness,
all flavors

love my poems centered,
(except for this one)
with no sugar added,
but a lot of cream and sweat,
both a necessity, not a luxury,
prefer mesmerizing,
crafting hard, laboring,
me writing, you imbibing,
leaving you oohing and loving
me
because of the appreciation built in
over
ditties that are semisweet
sugar nadas that populate the
easy come easy go away
poem of the day

but that's just me

like myself hard
cause when I melt,
to a child's grin shyest,
laughter silly me provoking
it is ever so better so...
tears, any kind, don't mind
laughing and sorrowing pouring,
let genuine be my only test
speed limit barrier unlimited

sorta saved a street crossing
phone-occupied-woman yesterday,
put my arm across her body
fast hard, unasked
so she wasn't
bicycle crashed,
both looks well received,
the *** and the gratitude,
but latter over former,
if I had to choose,
but I dont

but that's just me

Joanie M. over Judy C.,
Amy over Adele,
Eva Cassidy over all...
Zombies over Beatles,
Blunt over Taylor,
Rhyming Simon over Billy Joel,
no typos over flaring,
glaring no caring...

your poetry over mine,
cause it amazes,
cause mine,
just old familiar crazies,
just runaround Sues from yester pester days,
transcribed for a someday later
future grimacing laugh of
good god did I write that!

but that's just me

wrote quite the many
literary escapades
this morning,
like the yore,
good old days,
when every glance,
remark passing
made me run
to tablet them
in perpetuity ASAP

placed them before you
scattered thither and dither,
like all that jazz notes
running hands over planes geometric,
most just average,
but all there in hopes
you would love me better

but that's just me

sneaking inside you with
a wink, a tink-ering whimsy,
a stupid smile, a wicked sinning
humongous grinning
with a belly laughing,
havoc raising, me crazing,

*but that's just me

Oh fair Milly Brandon, a young maid, a fair maid!
  All her curls are yellow and her eyes are blue,
And her cheeks were rosy red till a secret care made
  Hollow whiteness of their brightness as a care will do.

Still she tends her flowers, but not as in the old days,
  Still she sings her songs, but not the songs of old:
If now it be high Summer her days seem brief and cold days,
  If now it be high Summer her nights are long and cold.

If you have a secret keep it, pure maid Milly;
  Life is filled with troubles and the world with scorn;
And pity without love is at best times hard and chilly,
  Chilling sore and stinging sore a heart forlorn.

Walter Brandon, do you guess Milly Brandon's secret?
  Many things you know, but not everything,
With your locks like raven's plumage, and eyes like an egret,
  And a laugh that is music, and such a voice to sing.

Nelly Knollys, she is fair, but she is not fairer
  Than fairest Milly Brandon was before she turned so pale:
Oh, but Nelly's dearer if she be not rarer,
  She need not keep a secret or blush behind a veil.

Beyond the first green hills, beyond the nearest valleys,
  Nelly dwells at home beneath her mother's eyes:
Her home is neat and homely, not a cot and not a palace,
  Just the home where love sets up his happiest memories.

Milly has no mother; and sad beyond another
  Is she whose blessed mother is vanished out of call:
Truly comfort beyond comfort is stored up in a mother
  Who bears with all, and hopes through all, and loves us all.

Where peacocks nod and flaunt up and down the terrace,
  Furling and unfurling their scores of sightless eyes,
To and fro among the leaves and buds and flowers and berries
  Maiden Milly strolls and pauses, smiles and sighs.

On the hedged-in terrace of her father's palace
  She may stroll and muse alone, may smile or sigh alone,
Letting thoughts and eyes go wandering over hills and valleys
  To-day her father's, and one day to be all her own.

If her thoughts go coursing down lowlands and up highlands,
  It is because the startled game are leaping from their lair;
If her thoughts dart homeward to the reedy river islands,
  It is because the waterfowl rise startled here or there.

At length a footfall on the steps: she turns, composed and steady,
  All the long-descended greatness of her father's house
Lifting up her head; and there stands Walter keen and ready
  For hunting or for hawking, a flush upon his brows.

"Good-morrow, fair cousin." "Good-morrow, fairest cousin:
  The sun has started on his course, and I must start to-day.
If you have done me one good turn you've done me many a dozen,
  And I shall often think of you, think of you away."

"Over hill and hollow what quarry will you follow,
  Or what fish will you angle for beside the river's edge?
There's cloud upon the hill-top and there 's mist deep down the hollow,
  And fog among the rushes and the rustling sedge."

"I shall speed well enough be it hunting or hawking,
  Or casting a bait towards the shyest daintiest fin.
But I kiss your hands, my cousin; I must not loiter talking,
  For nothing comes of nothing, and I'm fain to seek and win."

"Here's a thorny rose: will you wear it an hour,
  Till the petals drop apart still fresh and pink and sweet?
Till the petals drop from the drooping perished flower,
  And only the graceless thorns are left of it."

"Nay, I have another rose sprung in another garden,
  Another rose which sweetens all the world for me.
Be you a tenderer mistress and be you a warier warden
  Of your rose, as sweet as mine, and full as fair to see."

"Nay, a bud once plucked there is no reviving,
  Nor is it worth your wearing now, nor worth indeed my own;
The dead to the dead, and the living to the living.
  It's time I go within, for it's time now you were gone."

"Good-bye, Milly Brandon, I shall not forget you,
  Though it be good-bye between us for ever from to-day;
I could almost wish to-day that I had never met you,
  And I'm true to you in this one word that I say."

"Good-bye, Walter. I can guess which thornless rose you covet;
  Long may it bloom and prolong its sunny morn:
Yet as for my one thorny rose, I do not cease to love it,
  And if it is no more a flower I love it as a thorn."

Why love? Why not?
​I find myself taking journeys everywhere. Whether it’s a false adventure throughout my mind or it’s a simple stroll through the halls at school, or why not even a nice run outside in that very ever so breezy wind and fluffy snow falling from the sky? A title, does this poem need any relevance to something? Ask yourself that, interpret it how you would and please yourself. Honestly when there’s infinite possibilities there’s always room for creativity. Back on track now folks. Why love? Why not?
You might be thinking, “Oh what does Mr. Paul have going on right now? Is this a joke, Is this some sort of way of expressing his feelings, or is this some really prolonged way of saying be good to yourself to each and every single student that lies within this room as I read this poem as I speak my thoughts?” Yes indeed I took a perspective of myself there. I went from a thought of one of you to myself thinking. What thoughts exist? Why must a man have feelings? Why must a cat have love for sleep? Why is a dog a man’s best friend? What is this thing that many people claim to have yet there’s no good way of putting it out there? Now I will apologize for avoiding the main topic here, and also for asking all of these questions.  AM I accomplishing anything here, well probably not, Onwards to the point.
A shy fellow goes in and out throughout his days thinking about life. The days go on and on.  He comes across this very kind person. This person is sweet and caring. There should be more and more people like this out there. There certainly is but this is a very nice experience to have. Life goes on and people come and go. Here’s a point that should be put out there, be kind and cherish the ones you love and have good bonds with. If you do that, you’ll make some of the greatest friends you could ask for, males and females alike. Don’t ridicule someone for being wrong, accept his or her views and go with the flow. That’s something I’ve learned to do. Where’s that love topic you might be asking about still as this “poem” goes on? Again we’re almost there.
Roses can be red but violets are also blue, why is this the cliché standard for love? Can a man or woman not just bring a beautiful bellflower, which takes both the red and blue of a rose and violet to make wonderful purple? It doesn’t matter. Love is love; there are endless possibilities of showing and expressing it. Where does this idea come from…. A thought. If you’re shy and awkward you’re fine, if you’re very strict and serious you’re fine, don’t let a simple trait get the best of you because you may have select feelings for someone. Don’t let others make you feel down, don’t let others make you feel bad, never let another person make yourself feel like you don’t belong. Everyone has a spot in life and is well deserving of something. A simple smile, “hello” or even a wave goodbye can make someone’s day. Make yourself feel good. No one deserves to not feel loved. This is all coming from one of the shyest people you could know. Why love, well why not? Love can make someone feel different about a lot of things; then again even the coldest of hearts have room for something.

This feeling is love and kindness.​​​

You're the muse behind my every song
You're what connects this body to its soul
The darkest of nights find its dawn in you
You are the eye of the most ferocious storm

Oh, love i think it's time
Oh, love, won't you be mine?
Oh, love, can't you just see
I want the world to see you be with me

You're the goosebumps i get in the middle of the night
You're what the stars have been telling me about
The shyest of flowers bloom at your touch
You are the hope that keeps the fragile thread  by which my sanity hangs from breaking apart

Oh love, I think it's time
Oh, love won't you be mine
Oh, love, can't you just see
I want the world to see you be with me

You are the brokeness that heals itself
You are the words that i have been looking for all along
The most endurable concrete cracks and sprouts where you walk
You are the love that only results from a great deal of suffering

Oh love, I think i it's time
Oh, love won't you be mine
Oh, love, can't you just see
I want the world to see you be with me

the most saddest people have the brightest smiles
the most shyest people have the loudest minds
the most happiest people have the saddest sobs

Why is it
That the smartest
The kindest
The shyest
The quietest
Always get picked on?
It makes no sense to me.
But that's what's happening!

It happens everywhere
Every city,
Every state,
Every country in the world,
To all people,
To both genders,
It's degrading.

Who are we to judge?
We're all mortal here.
We all have sinned
We are all flawed
It's merely a fact of life!

Remember this:
No one is below you,
*If you consider someone else below you.

it's strange the way we skirt around each other
like trying to catch a piece of dust in the sun.
it's strange the way we hold each other
but never talk about holding each other.
it's strange that you are such a huge flirt
but are still the shyest person i know.
it's strange that i haven't asked you out yet
but we still act like a couple.
it really is strange.
but it's astonishing
how wonderful you are.

at first it was pink
the shyest color
let the feeling sink
you deserve to have more

then it turned yellow
a happy color
take away sorrow
plant me smiles once more

then red came along
the strongest color
'twas a good feeling
come on, love some more

you gave me words, too-
stored them in my core
-not one thing or two
but all hues and more

but love, as they tell,
may bring tears and pain
have i gone insane?
this is worse than hell

and so you brought me
black, white that i bore
you broke my heart, baby
i can't love no more

but i realized,
i was hurt and sore,
*got cuts from your lies,
but i couldn't have asked for more

Aye there son, would you care to hear a tale,
A story less often told, with an impact strong as a gale.
So come and sit beside me and I shall change your life,
You are in my world now, you are in my hive.

There was once a man, only legends told
could bring a rain of fire, could make young, anything old.
He tamed the valiant storms and angered the shyest breeze,
The minds of every blind scholar he did tease.

As his actions were, so was his conscience.
As he could foretell the beyond, all he needed was his magic lens.
So he willingly helped them, those who frantically approached him,
all in a price not according to anyones whim.

Yet hundreds came seeking his unquestionable power,
Those, who wanted to live a fairy tale and a happily ever after.
Some lost half their lives, some their first children,
And others lived their lives under the vicious soothsayer's burden.

And then one day, people wanted this gimmick to stop.
They wanted to live reasonable lives, the bubble they wanted to pop.
And the people paid no more visits to the soothsayer.
And his whereabouts became dead as the cells on the nails of your finger.

Well thats the end i'm afraid. Pretty foggy isn't it?
My vision through this lens has become blur, as the life of any common bandit.
And now you have heard my story, your life will be a worthy journey.
What is the price you wish to pay me?

To the shyest of most,
the ones doing the most.
All think of us quite timid,
still the timid kind, isn't shy
to their thoughts.

A step into our minds,
might lend you a slip.
You'd be so surprised to find
what's inside,
So you've heard,
the quiet ones are the loudest inside.

As the face can be tame,
there's something wild of us.
Granted we have some thoughts
to bring us to shame.
As is often our nature,
these thoughts tend to spring up.

The biting of my tongue,
there's something I'm shy to say.
As is my character,
as is how I'd act in a play.

Every time I looked at his eyes
feels like my heart wants to explode,
he's all that I've being waiting for,
but am I his?

Every time that I see him around
I only want to talk with him
but it seems that every time he's around
I become the shyest person alive.

I've known all his crushes
and they don't look like me
am I his type?
but certainly I am not,
that's what my brain tolds me.

I've being in love
with only one guy
before I knew him but
with him it's all different.

Am I in love?
could that be possible?
Am I having a crush on him?
without knowing him at all?

Am I?

A wake of oceans still frame
Pushing aside all the obsessions
In and out of the game

All my heroes are dead
Now my mind wanders as I
Dream of something instead

Twisted like the curl of her hair
A bounce in the body
Souls without a ****** care

Sun hit my face
Tell me the way out of here
Life is thin as lace

The rubble of humanity
Erects itself once again
Repeated methodological insanity

Hope in the shape of heart
Rests in the center of her eye
Captured right from the start

Restless lady you wander away
When I stop to listen
Lost for words or what to say

Take my mind in your palm
Watch me crumble like cards
As gentle as a new baby fawn

The path has been paved
Underneath the heat of the sun
Promises of reason rarely saved

Telling re-enactments of sorrow
Greek in the way she wails out
Not a link to life tomorrow

And the coffee is gravy brown
Steaming with delighted wisps
Mist blanketed atop a forgotten town

Numbers make their way to you
Leaking into the pours of your skin
To live to love to die and to always prove

Oh' worth you tackle me in the street
Shackling me with rusty wire
That to live right is to be living free

Aware of millions who've lived before
Rambling through the caverns of history
Still and calm as time restores

Pain is a mere tool used by men
It breaks and chips away at one's will
Let it not take you or it will come again

Sacrifice; a weighty guilt to bear
A life not lived for another's
An outstretched hand, an illuminated flare

Push of the night
Upright she walks in shallow glare
A stone in air like the flight of a kite

Timidity you waver within me
Telling that all is not supposed to be well
Like the wings of a buzzing yellow bee

Cooperation of the mighty captain
A knife as strong as His order
Lines of the dead stink with their souls contained

Another lie within the book
Born into a world of flames
That greets the one's who have took

Hurricanes twist inside of my mind
As my body burns an icy cold
And the only worry I have is that of time

Weighing the balance of right and wrong
An eternal search for the meaning of truth
A plea for help to make me feel as if I belong

But not here will I find the peace I seek
For the creek has dried up in front of me
Days are passing as my hand grows weak

Beware of the whisper from her lips
It smelt of roses grown from a summer dawn
You break as she enters and sits

Silver heart that shines within
Fragile to the touch of the shyest child
Tell me the secret of where to begin

Grant me your wisdom
Let me believe
There is no such thing
As irreparable sin

As a child I was always the shyest in the room,
I never started conversation for fear of rejection.
Maybe it was because I never had a strong father figure growing up,
I strived to be perfect for everyone I met.
I carefully viewed those around me,
Taking in silent notes of the values, morals, and hobbies they held that were “popular”.
They had the best clothing?
I decided that I needed a whole new wardrobe.
If they traveled a lot, I wanted to travel just as much.
I took all of these things and “built” a better me.
One that I thought people would like.
Every morning I put on that mask for fear that nobody would like the real me,
But I’ve been wearing this mask for so long I cannot tell which is the real me from the imposter.
Which begs the question,
Who am I?

~sdr

Deep within the woods there is the perfect rock
It is under the tallest tree, right next to a small stream
Worn smooth by years and hours of sitting, by the shyest little girl
For when she was there time would stop, she had no need for a clock
She would sit for hours under the great tree's shade
Reading every book she could get her hands on
Although her body remained on that stone
Her mind was far away, the woods around her would fade

She was a detective, solving the hardest case
She was once a Queen and had tea with those She knighted
She rode a dragon and waged war on the wicked mage
She sailed the giant waves of the seven seas
She climbed to the top of Mount Everest
She sat astride the most beautiful mighty wild stallion
She fought a mighty mid evil battle brought the King to his knees

Yes that stone was very smooth
For out in those woods was her escape
The birds singing there sweet songs, the stream babbling all faded to back ground noise
Those books always her mood and mind could soothe

( Sonnet )*

In youth a girl once appeared to me
And joy out made drawn faces station,
Each moment loveliest grant of dream
All days a burst in thirsty celebrations

And for eyes set a buzz to insects flung,
Time lapped its circle of blessed waves,
On shores of pond we made truest love,
Iridescent beyond their sparkling trades,

Wetted lips rapt in late hatch morrows
And the moon lighted the shyest stars,
Never was hint of brood nor of sorrow,
In close after days now raining way far.

O why so fast did she come then desert,
Taking the whole of sweet sun with her?

Would you still want me?
If I ruined your skin with my bites
Spoiled your face with my tongue and lips

You would need a new lotion
To wash my love off you
For moments when you hate me

Your life's stability may be shaken
I may bite harder and kiss where you are shyest
You would make the sweetest sounds

I would capture that moment of pure love
And remember our promises of someday

what if I told you
I saw a lioness with fire eyes?

what if I told you
I witnessed the collapse of a marble empire?

what if I told you
I saw ashes floating from a soul burned by passion?

what if I told you
I saw an ice-cold Phoenix raising from snow?

what if I told you
I saw a canary so joyful its melody charming even the shyest of sun rays?

what if I told you
I saw a golden but poisonous rose?

what if I told you
I saw waterfalls coming down from blue and green galaxies?

what if I told you
I saw honey dripping from a dark heart?

what if I told you
I saw a diamond so rare that its brilliance scared even the lightning?

would you believe me?
would you think I'm lying or fantasising or even creating metaphors of imagination?

but
what if I told you
to look in the mirror?
what if you see
what I once saw?

Soft Hello's
Quiet so no one can hear,
Quick smiles and laughs,
Brief so no on can see.

Whispered Hello's,
Soft smiles,
Bursting giggles,
Warm bubbles,
The sweetest caress,
The shyest
I Love You,
That echo's around the place,
Under the road,
Where only we go.

Bright eyes,
When I grin,
And whisper back,
I Know.
Take your hand in mine
And continue counting the
Cars passing by.

Soft and whispered,
So no one can see or hear,
What is only ment,
For our eyes and our ears.

My easy-chair shifts closer to the hearth
with each passing winter
My ingle-nook...
forestalling isolation and despair

A wisp of smoke and the gentle song of embers
as flames engulf stale reality
with their golden glow
Stirring
merry voices
from so many years ago

Recalling...
the chime of Church-bells
faintly mingling
with the sound of carollers
weaving through streets
door to door
through the fresh trackless snow
Smiling eyes
singing
with hand in hand
Their warm wishes reaching out
and then hugs
before moving on
to the next Manor-house

Yet

One stayed on to linger ...

Songbook clutched across a breast
throbbing
to the feathered touch of fairy feet

One face...

framed by a wreath of flaxen hair

The shyest stare from downcast eyes

Cheeks... flushed to rose

and a voice that still whispers to my deepest parts


If only you knew that from that very moment
to this
you've brought to me
and always will
kindle my fondest memories
each fireside
~