Tuesday, November 12, 2013

Midnight Minstrel





The fog and rain exchange their doldrums for a stiff northerly squall
Tonight the dark is deep and lonesome though a skiff of starlets fall
And it seems we hear the moaning of a wanderer at loss
For he cannot find the leaf-song where the willow-timbrels toss
So the minstrel of the bower takes his fiddle and his bow
Lays them down among the flowers that have shed their summer-snow

Now he turns to tune the tempest; strikes the maple mandolin
Silver sparkles ‘neath the lamppost as a throng of stars join in
If the softer strains of summer must be done, then so it be
He hails to the restless drummer waiting where we cannot see
But without a second bidding he releases want and woe
Spilling to midnight marauders a silk canticle of snow

Charm, chimera and chimney smoke and unchained melodies
Of days gone by and autumn sky slips from his lips with ease
And suddenly the wanderer has found his rightful place
He fills the air with Christmas cheer and trims the trees with lace
We snuggle ‘neath our quilted covers, close to love or fire’s blaze
As we listen to the darkness where the midnight minstrel plays

© Janet Martin


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