Long From Her Gardens

[Later Poem Form]


She is never firm
        --fluid undulation.
Often violent and equally so
Beneath her calm.
She is all I see in every direction
And I am humbled;
Made insignificant
By her vast magnificence.

Men-of-war rise and fall
Upon her every sigh and swell.
Porpoise mothers lift their newborns
To the cusp of her realm
For first breaths and
Glimpses of golden sun.
She is kinder to them, my lover
Her voice whispers in their veins
        --and mine.

I have heard her song
In the winds that buffet me,
Chorused in the cry of gulls
Wheeling in a winter sky
And I live haunted by its melody;
The singing of my name,
A song she learned years before
        --Remembered and held in wait.
She whispers to me
As I lay sleeping
Fitful with dreams,
She sighs,
        "Return to me, my love.
        Thou hast been too long from my garden.
        I long for thee to furrow my skin
        Drawing wakes across my back-
        Any prow wilt suffice-
        If thou wilt but return to me."

I long to scent her breath,
Feel its caress upon my brow,
To taste the salt of her tears,
Kiss her with my soul and
Beg her forgiveness;
I have been away too long...
        Forgive me, my love...
But she is patient,
If not always forgiving.
She knows my heart is not my own,
And that all things return to her
In time.


ELAshley
111900.114116.1
Revised:
120300.020807.6
Revised:
031601.111244.1
Adapted from the rough draft
of an English Composition of
the same title...



..::Original Comments::..

This is a very, very beautiful poem.
Posted by clown on 05/26/2006 09:10:52 AM