Rhyme Poem by John Lars Zwerenz

Rhyme

The burgundy-tinted sunset,
Like a bohemian enchantress
Speaks of the soul's loneliness,
As it glitters on the brooklet.
The silver foam of the little stream
Rushes joyfully, without regret;
Yet I, disconsolate,
Wander to a reverent dream.
The solitary nooks, where I roam and rove,
Dressed with other brooks lined with watercress and clove,
Are caressed by breezes, of myrtles, pines and thyme.
I lose myself in the splendid wood.
In my buccaneer's coat, in my winter hood,
Weaving, as I saunter, a menagerie of rhyme.

John Lars Zwerenz