I held you like fog holds the riverbank
In the hour before dawn,
The hour you always loved best.
I think of you in April...
That's when you were prettiest,
When the rains came.
Love, I take a new knife out to the garden,
Times when I've dreamt of you.
I cut the funeral belles
And lay them on the riverbank along with my dress--
The one I wore in the rain,
The one you always loved best.
_________________________
Beautiful.
ReplyDeleteThanks, sweetie! :-)
ReplyDeleteSo lovely Shay, an aubade to a
ReplyDeletelover whose fragrance lingers on.
Many thanks, Cynthia. I wouldn't be a very good Amy Lowell fan if I didn't write an aubade from time to time, now would I? ;-)
ReplyDelete*smile*
ReplyDeleteThere's a dawn every day. The occasional aubade seems in order.
You still write beautifully, Cookie. Thank you.
Thanks, sister mine. :-)
ReplyDeleteI always love to see that you have been here. I'd like to wrap you and Cynthia up and just keep you here!
Hey Shay- This is beautiful. I loved the images, especially "I cut the funeral belles..And lay them on the riverbank along with my dress."
ReplyDeleteThanks, lady. This poem wouldn't behave, I had to keep rewriting it, but the funeral belles survived from the first draft to the last, though truth be told, they were funeral "bells" the first time through. I guess, when in doubt, I turn to nature.
ReplyDeleteThanks for stopping in!