Nocturne
And follow its lead gently throughout the hours.
Yet surfacing quickly is an old proclivity to despoil
The simple delights of waking hours by willing
The night's arrival even before the stroke of noon.
I pause for a moment by the living garden wall,
Opening my senses to the ornate configuration
Of flowers washed in hues that suit my musings of you.
I remove a delicate bunch of hyacinth and a single
White rose, inhaling sharply their sweet extravagance.
As the shadows begin their frolic across the valley,
I light the oil lamp on my bedside stand and study the
Scent of the blossoms as borrowed inspiration.
My eyes are heavy, and lacking any urge to battle languor
And the imminent barrage of dream-lights to follow.
I succumb to slumber in the brevity of a sigh.
Your voice floats softly to me through the darkness,
Weaving its charm into my helpless heart.
It dawns on my dreaming mind that a more
Glorious sound has never been voiced;
I drift deeper, enraptured forthright by your legato,
Captive to the strains of your abiding nocturne.
Image by Alice NG via Unsplash
Beautiful, I am carried into the melody sung by your descriptions.
Thanks so much :)
I love hyacinths and roses, though I am partial to white tulips regardless of season. Constancy and devotion mark your art
Thanks John :)
Great work, as always. It brings Byron to my mind somehow. I think you are having sweet dreams :)
Thank you so much!! :)
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