The longed-for summer days are dying.
Autumnal leaves already lying
remind us of that solemn season,
which soon will fall, which is the reason
why poets' pens are poised o'er pages;
they hear the storm as if it rages
to stir the soulless savage ocean,
whose waves did drown without emotion
the poet, Percy, (shrouded Shelly.)
Who breathed his last in ocean's belly;
that bloodless beast did still his passion;
turned youthful cheeks from red to ashen!
The longed-for summer days are dying;
upon that beach where body's lying
the poet brothers all assemble,
put pen to page with hands that tremble.
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Author:
Blue-eyed Bolla (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: August 20th, 2021 11:37
- Comment from author about the poem: in memory of the poet, Percy Shelley
- Category: Sad
- Views: 36
- Users favorite of this poem: Accidental Poet
Offline)
Comments2
Thank you. An enjoyable read.
As always Kevin, an awesome read. 😉
Many thanks, AP. Appreciate, as always, your feedback. 😉
As I often say Kevin, Credit given where credit's due. 👍
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