A Wattle And Daub Poem by Naveed Khalid

Then, people of all sorts to meet with in the world forlorn,
Down that road by the corner of that street in the end,
Like our good old neighbours o'er the wall on high;
That in largess of some thought alone more bright,
Can, of course, make home through nurslings of immortality!
Against the world of thy most high deserts,
A place far-off from all vicissitudes of the sky,
Alas, but opes a garden unto my unweird eyen:
E'ery fig leaf in autumn wind to my eyes so blind,
Indeed! by thatch-eaves is run by the clock,
Of snow-capped myrtle upon Minerva's golden brow,
Oft makes haste in my bed of crimson joy
That forfeited dark in Hades of a star, my love,
More temperate than darling buds of May
To e'er melting snow in dismal shades of age-old grey,
A drop of vintage hides in solemn strain this barren rhyme.

(C) Naveed Khalid

Copy Rights (C) 2014.
All Rights Reserved.

Date Created: Sunday, January 04,2015 7: 06: 21 PM