Pray excuse me Lady, I do beg thy pardon,
but I saw thee walking in the lonely garden,
chestnut hair falling over a long white gown,
and sadness deep in eyes of almond brown.
Forgive mine intrusion, please take a glance,
agree to accompany me to the lovers dance,
for thy loneliness to mine open heart screams
'take mine hand, lead me through thy dreams'.
© Pagan Paul (12/12/17)
. . . . .
. . . .
Snow kisses the sleepy mountains,
draping them with sheets of white.
Flakes drift down into the vales,
jewels sparkling in the full moon light.
A simple crystallised drop of water
delightfully whirls on a gentle breeze,
alighting softer than an eyelash kiss,
to find a home upon the trees.
© Pagan Paul (04/12/17)
Lounging in the dry warmth of the sun,
overcome by the beauty of the green cliffs
rising above the hypnotic blue water. . . .
I think of Mann's The Magic Mountain,
obsession with the physical
(not, in this case, disease, of course,
but the sensual):
skin glowing in the year-round sun;
falling into one's hand;
air, rich with the smell of flowers. . . .
Wouldn't such pleasure
inevitably dull the mind's keen edge?
Wouldn't Eden's ease
subvert all great endeavor?