Wednesday 10 September 2014

~ Brittle me, I wait … ~

~ Brittle me, I wait … ~

Wintry northern wind doth blow,
Blowing, so straight from heaven,
Pinching, pricking, piercing, of me,
Pieces of warmth, beholden, leaven …

Oh, tell … would thou come too?
With the icy breaths of November,
Rubbing cheeks against the wall,
Of the noon of my sultry slumber …

Like a shriveled veined last leaf,
I’d look out for thy silent arrival,
Lynched on lone branch, so corny,
Where a prosaic gust doth gravel …

Tread softly, on my brittle terrain,
For I’d seek, a secret soft wedlock,
In the heaths, away from a coven,
Wearing solitude, a whitish smock …

Come as thee wish to … gently to me,
Doth hurry, up the hill, would ye scurry?
Wait await in my plain mournful eyes,
 Dry northern wind shalt pluck to bury!

4 comments:

  1. Amazing work Sadia...and I loved the references to the upcoming change of seasons :)

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  2. THIS verse, ahhh!

    "Tread softly, on my brittle terrain,
    For I’d seek, a secret soft wedlock,
    In the heaths, away from a coven,
    Wearing solitude, a whitish smock

    And one before it...Ahhh!
    ...and first, and last
    read it so fast, then
    read it again...
    PERFECT, dear Sadia
    I feel that dry northern wind--
    as it shall pass me by--grin!

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    Replies
    1. Ah, my my .... Steve ... I'm grinning this time ... :D

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