Turret Of A Crown Poem by Naveed Khalid

Methinks not in vain words of e'ery departed look
this world all woe,
nor no heart can afford in silent hours
of soliloquy,
her stumbled feet upon the sand dunes,
pricked with a furr coat in the cellar-barn;
a weasel hat on knees in ruffled feathers,
of laurel wreath thy myrtle crown:
sticks out his head like a soring thumb impression
e'ery flower upon a barren heath in rosemary garden;
a lurking limbo to my shipwrecked dreams,
of woe-begone days in my bed of crimson joy,
beside the oak in the late evening too bright,
that crow on wings, on wings still musing o'er the dale,
of fealty's Apollo at my door, his age-old love,
makes beauteous my nights under the Archangel's brow:
needest not I of my adversaries be part to play
a hunch for the parade, our little john,
of eclipsed doom to bloody tyrant time,
where squirrels make hoards in haystack of woods,
I my secret hath kept away from high heavens,
above the mundane, in nurslings of immortality!
for I love thee not for beauty's sake that by looking liking moves
me more in thy graceful ease to a close afraid
than what the stars in secret influence comment, sweet maid.

(C) Naveed Khalid

Copy Rights(C) 2016.
All Rights Reserved.

Date Created: Friday, March 18,2016 4: 02: 23 PM