The Rose Clad Bower Poem by John Lars Zwerenz

The melodies which emanate
From a mystic mandolin
Evokes the many strains of an ancient violin;
And harmonies multiply, as the meaning of our fate,
Laid open to our psyches in the pristine wood:
They croon in the Lethe of your scarlet kiss,
Where libertines are dressed -
In modest crimsons, as they should.
Your fragrant bosom, praised and caressed
Glitters firmly with ardor and with bliss;
For I have seen on tepid evenings such as this
Paradise confirmed, in the rose bedecked bower:
For as each lush petal's halcyon mistress,
You long to capture every flower.

John Lars Zwerenz