No instrument, minstrel or crooner
Can imitate, or compete
The low, melancholy languor
Of this melody, tender-sweet
Into deep-hushed charcoal hollow
Over moon-gilded plateau
It rises and falls at my window
Now restless, now moody, now slow
No violin quickens the pulses
Like its haunting madrigal
A ballad of longing and losses
Wanders earth’s somnolent hall
It curves quickened notes in an ocean
Clutching love’s bitter-sweet thought
A solo of dissonant emotion
Soothing, yet searing the heart
There is no other song equal
In lyric, in measure or rhyme
No composition to rival
This hymn since dawning of time
Over the graceful willow
And earth's silver-blue diadem
Over the tear on my pillow
Croons the wind-song of one a.m.
J~
a haunting and melancholy write...lovely words ~
ReplyDeleteA magnetic madrigal of your own.
ReplyDeleteGrace and Sara, thank-you~
ReplyDelete