I never may turn the loop of a road
Where sudden, ahead, the sea is Iying,
But my heart drags down with an ancient load-
My heart, that a second before was flying.
I never behold the quivering rain-
And sweeter the rain than a lover to me-
But my heart is wild in my breast with pain;
My heart, that was tapping contentedly.
There's never a rose spreads new at my door
Nor a strange bird crosses the moon at night
But I know I have known its beauty before,
And a terrible sorrow along with the sight.
The look of a laurel tree birthed for May
Or a sycamore bared for a new November
Is as old and as sad as my furtherest day-
What is it, what is it, I almost remember?
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Comments
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I like the story of this piece, but I do not like the situation of the lines, I like the form, the rhyme patter etc., it's just an underlying effect it seems the piece holds in format or the way she wrote it in a condensed way from line to line that I seem to not care too much for.
Other than that, I felt this had good imagery and graced the page quite well.
A nice piece that Parker has written here.
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