I sit beside a little shadowy stream,
And try to tell in words my thoughts of you.
It is in vain.
The running waters quiver, beckon, gleam,
The running water glitters through my brain,
Dragon-fly blue.
The irises are sweet with half-forgotten rain.
Their dark heads bend beneath their diadems of dew,
One petal falls, and, like a little boat,
Clings drowning where the yellow rushes float.
The waters with soft fingers draw it down.
So, one by one, my petal fancies drown,
And all my unborn words
Fall and flutter and sink, like wounded birds.
Cool waters close above them. Silver-grey,
The running waters hurry them away.
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Comments
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Great treatment
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Nice images connected with this poem. Words are a challenge, especially when there is an attempt to make them state a message! Writer's Block happens for a reason, lol. Love the shock of colors that are woven between the images.
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Every so often when I get tired of reading about blades that cut and blood that flows or how you could leave me and so forth. I get tired and yearn to read something fine. I want to read words that are spelled, lines that are edited so fine that the meaning(s) shine through brighter than a full moon so I come here. One poet that I really enjoy is this one. So often the poems on this web page is about love won or lost. That is alright, but sometimes very little effort and work go into it. Then the same poet complains that everyone visits but no one says a thing. I have come here to vent a bit and that is true, but I come to read a poem that is so wonderful that it is etched on time itself.
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