What falls while sleeping, speaks to me;
a grace upon that frozen ground,
a voice that dreams, what things might be—
in restlessness, and melting round
the base of a bejeweled spruce—
I'd thought, wherein were only larks.
Though seeing icemelt in the grass,
and loose, I think it's not so stark:
What's dreamt in falling, need not last, and I
can learn to love a Lark.
-
Author:
Reivax Camlost (
Offline) - Published: December 16th, 2019 12:43
- Comment from author about the poem: There are plenty of metaphors for love in nature when you look for them. Perhaps the more precious ones aren't contrived, but rather speak to us as a voice within our own minds drawn from some far off place; the snow that melts in the morning, having fallen through the night, need not be so constructed as a term: Rather, it holds a voice within the heart, speaking for its own.
- Category: Love
- Views: 13
Offline)
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.