Belle Poem by Naveed Khalid

No, I'll not least be moved
by what to thy lost memory
of another's plight made new;
a church bell at the door
of untread places far-off
beyond the sunrise,
beside the bed of oak,
that in whose age-old love;
rest content be oblivion
in the backyard of my garden
e'ery flower upon a barren heath,
that crow's quill on wings, on wings
against time's tickling toes
in the late evening,
heaven-ward bent this world
of thy most high deserts,
darkly lit in the mellowing year
of spring,
under the Archangel's brow.

(C) Naveed Khalid

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Date Created: Monday, November 16,2015 11: 32: 16 AM