One day, when all the poets die
and there is left below the sky
Just waters, kissed by lunar light
that gleam and ripple in the night;
let this, for you, be poetry.
When pens and quills have all grown cold
take autumn’s glades of gleaming gold,
where fragrant fires and balmy breeze
do burn and breathe through trembling trees;
let this, for you, be poetry.
While lovers ‘neath the pearly moon
still sigh and sing and sweetly swoon,
with lips, that laugh and love and tease;
when beauty breathes from hearts like these;
let this, for you, be poetry.
When swifts and swallows swoop in spring
and skylarks soar aloft to sing,
while sun sets silent off the shore
and sea does cease to rage and roar;
let this, for you, be poetry.
One day, when all the poets die
and in their graves the poets lie,
upon the heath, go fill your arms,
with honeysuckle’s tender charms;
let this, for you, be poetry.
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Author:
Blue-eyed Bolla (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: April 27th, 2020 05:08
- Comment from author about the poem: poetry is everywhere!
- Category: Nature
- Views: 33
- Users favorite of this poem: MaddieJ
Offline)
Comments3
This is so beautiful! I love the rhythm and your way with words.
Thank you so much. Glad you liked my poor little poem.
Wonderful write Kevin, there is poetry in so many things in our lives.
Andy
Again, thank you, Andy. Appreciate your kind comments and feedback.
I really love this concept. I think about it all the time, you took a beautiful thought and made it tangible! Thanks for this! Great write. 🙂
Many thanks, Maddie. Glad you liked my poor little poem. Appreciate your kind words and feedback.
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