Thursday, July 6, 2017

THE MAIDEN AND HER LYRE



Golden gates! A wanderer's prayer
And as I went beyond
Hardly expecting the sight before me –
The most wondrous lawn!
Flowers and fruit trees abounded
Spring was eternally there,
And besides a fountain, playing
On her lyre, a maiden fair.

Unruly hair struggling against
Coiled knot so tight,
While escaped tendrils laughed
All round her face in delight.
Brows against forehead –
Dark arches of _expression.
In speechless conversation
A most comprehensive lesson.

Doe-like eyes,
Lurking fear their loyal guard,
Yet that truant hint of friendship,
To contain he finds so hard!
God fell short of perfection
For the nose that he would need
Threw down chisel, frustrated,
From the scene to recede.
Lay himself down and rested
And dreamt the perfection
Refreshed, skill reaffirmed,
Went back to it once again!

A thousand blossoms on deceiving lips,
As they sat upon the chin
For well they distracted unsuspecting mind
From the string of pearls within.
And innocent beauty sat there,
Of her effect quite unaware,
And music left her subtle fingers,
And slipped into the lyre.

And Sun forgot he was due west,
And the winds forgot the clouds
Squirrels forgot to collect their nuts,
And flowers in blooming paused.
Birds ignored angry open mouths,
And trees, their leaves in delight danced,
The water sang a gurgling song
And deers – in joy they pranced.

No clocks to harness their harmony,
No mundane needs to meet,
No omens of impending disaster
For no disaster down their street.
I wish that I had stayed there
My strung up soul to unwind
But though Heaven's gates are still far away,
There's eternity on my mind.


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