The blind date you went on in 1928
lit up a pair of baby blue eyes
That dazzled your
Mornings and
Twilights.
The man with hands carved of seasoned oak
The man with a heart full of
Well worked earth that
Beats only for
You.
He bought you a hill
He built you a house
You gave him a home
He left you alone
Solitude
Gives old women
Time to mull over a life
Lived with the ones she loves
What transpires when his final nail is secured?
Recollection
Is the everlasting
Card you have left to play
To patch his final gift to you
Your watered down eyes ripple and say
I wish he was a scoundrel
Then he wouldn't seem so far away
Yes! A triumph of serious reflection and excellent content.
ReplyDeleteFor me, the sound isn't quite there yet. Compare the first line of the poem with the first line of the second stanza. One is working so well for me and the other trips a little bit. See what I mean?
The last lines, too, seem inevitable, perfect. They're not labored into being.
This is definitely worth another draft. Really good.
Dave