This little summer garden
where we used to meet,
fragrant with wild flowers
when wise bees gathered ...
A little secret path,ran along
the peaceful river ,leading us
to our palace ,
The beautiful Moldau accomplice
to our oaths ...
Your hair ,aniseed -scent forest
cascading down my shoulder ...
I was this tender navigator
in search of your secret coves ...
Is the sweetness of life only the instant
of a brief illusion,before the wise foragers
suddenly become furious ?
Locusts tore Lidice's soul apart ,
down to the deepest roots ...
In the morning ,a train was waiting
for you at Prague station ,
to the east ever further away ....
The dust of our bodies ,
drifting to the calm flow of Moldau ...
Others won't write the script of a love
in this little summer garden before lidice...
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Author:
lorenz (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: April 16th, 2024 07:52
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 14
- Users favorite of this poem: aDarkerMind
Offline)
Comments3
A tragic page in history.
A never-ending story...
Very eloquent...
A short but eloquent comment !
A terrible tragedy. I can remember reading about it and looking at the memorial to the children lost. It is haunting. A fine piece of poetry.
Thank you Cassie .
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