'Mandolin Wind'
By Silver Spun Sand
Fri, 21 Mar 2014
- 644 reads
5 comments
“Oh I never was good with romantic words
so the next few lines come really hard...”
Satin sheets, stained silver by the moon;
through ancient, wood-wormed beams,
sounds a mandolin wind.
A veil of high cloud shrouds the peaks
of the munros – caresses the coats
of hill sheep grazing
the slopes.
In the Blue Room, moonlight collects
in a saucer on the sill...panted breaths
fuel the flickering green and red,
of Sirius...muscling in through a fanlight.
Her hand in his, they scrawl their names
on the misted-up pane.
As each bleeds into each, he does up his jeans –
as she drifts to sleep; bums a ride –
far end of the glen.
Fog saunters down the valley like a panther
on the prowl, devours all it finds.
On its haunches, it sits; bides its time.
A haw-frost sets in. Winking amber lights
jingle in the scrim along the ridge.
In the west, Saturn slowly sets.
He texts a goodbye; his hand refusing to write
what his heart pencilled in.
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Comments
My thanks to you, Bee, and I
Permalink Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on
My thanks to you, Bee, and I wish you a sunny Sunday. Looks like a showery one here, though.
Tina
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It's sunny at the moment. I
It's sunny at the moment. I'll try and send you some.
Have a lovely day.
Bee
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Bee...you are a true star
Permalink Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on
Bee...you are a true star
Thank you XX
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