On My Way To Boston Poem by John Lars Zwerenz

ON MY WAY TO BOSTON

Marigolds sway behind the vine-clad lattice.
I stroll on my way to Boston, drinking from a chalice.
The winds are from the north, and my lady awaits
For the gift of my verse, and a new bouquet.
There are many white sails drifting in the bay.
Some ferry up the river as the sunlight abates.
I shall call for my love at the end of day,
And take her to my wooden carriage.
We shall kiss among its cushions of white,
And speak of love and sanctified marriage.
And when arrives the violet skies of night
We shall ride through Harvard and Beacon Hill,
And every poem she reads of mine
Shall fill her bosom with a redolent sunshine,
More tender than the daffodil.

~ JOHN LARS ZWERENZ