Saturday, January 10, 2015

Of Wayward Long Ago

Click on image to enlarge...

 
I begged them to come, come to that pretty place of picnic-past, 
but they are too busy with looking ahead to stand here looking back...

The isle of summer sleeps
Beneath sleek, sweeping lakes
Where echoes of love’s gifted glove
On gilded silence breaks

Light laughter rides the gale
That slides across a place
Where none can go save in our thought
To touch each stranger’s face

For Time’s take-giving ways
Of living stuns, its rush
Changes, yet stays strangely the same
In winter’s white-washed hush

Its gallery of trees
Stripped, swaddled, stiff and staid
Evokes a world of memories
Gripped in blue-everglade

And from piano keys
Laid listless on the snow
The air is charged with melodies
Of wayward long ago

© Janet Martin



2 comments:

  1. I especially love the last stanza...

    ReplyDelete
  2. The photos are lovely with the mist of blowing snow in the backgrounds. It is magic to look at summer places in winter and to appreciate their beauty, though they are so different.

    ReplyDelete

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