When I’d left the sleepless city
For these restful, rural climes
I penned these lines, pristine and pretty
Baptized them My Rustic Rhymes
They were writ in woodland’s wonder
By a sleepy, sunlit stream
Was where that bees their nectar plunder
Near where nymphs and naiads dream
I will warn you while you ponder
This was no idyllic phase!
Was mademoiselle who made me wander
Cursed me with my country craze
She was maid of misty morning
Goddess of the sacred grove
The daughter of Aurora dawning
So sublime she made me rove
I penned for her my love-sick poesies
For this mistress, verse I bled
Was there among the blood-red roses
On forbidden fruit I fed
When I‘d left the sleepless city
Where my wife and children slept
These poems purged my heart of pity
For the tears that they had wept
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Author:
Blue-eyed Bolla (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: August 20th, 2018 08:39
- Comment from author about the poem: For Lorraine: goddess of the sacred grove
- Category: Love
- Views: 23
Offline)
Comments2
I know the longing to leave the city.
Words and nature can be such a wonderful cure for our sadness.
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