Marigold treasures in the meadows enlivened by dawn’s affable pat
tranquil green quills by the night quiver the parrot out of her squat.
Loping across the quaint borough, clambering the lofty boughs
when boyhood wanes like a whisper, lost in its yen for youth’s swift toes.
Bask in summer’s warm cuddle, sail on ornate dale’s springtides
saunter through golden autumn showers, adore the glacial snow rides.
And one dusk alters the reflection in the mirror, visage seized away
resist the twirling winds of sunset, but titivations fade with the day.
Marigold and the meadows decay, parrot wings flap beyond all return.
Gape at unabated vicissitudes in solitude as clouds muster on a plummeting sun.
The day, a blessed memory; the visage, a token of the cherished past
to recollect through the redolent night, for bygones are forever lost.
tranquil green quills by the night quiver the parrot out of her squat.
Loping across the quaint borough, clambering the lofty boughs
when boyhood wanes like a whisper, lost in its yen for youth’s swift toes.
Bask in summer’s warm cuddle, sail on ornate dale’s springtides
saunter through golden autumn showers, adore the glacial snow rides.
And one dusk alters the reflection in the mirror, visage seized away
resist the twirling winds of sunset, but titivations fade with the day.
Marigold and the meadows decay, parrot wings flap beyond all return.
Gape at unabated vicissitudes in solitude as clouds muster on a plummeting sun.
The day, a blessed memory; the visage, a token of the cherished past
to recollect through the redolent night, for bygones are forever lost.
1 comment:
This poem elaborates on the title "bygone miles." I think, you got your title from here. The expression is pleasant and provides a sense of fulfillment in the end. There couldn't have been a better paintng to go with it and you remembered an entire "way of life" that's bygone in America.
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