I do not know this wooded way
of hemlock shade I trudge beneath
that led me wandering so astray
far from my home, my wintry heath.
There I met my flower
with whom I spent my hours
exchanging breath for breath,
loving unto death.
But with her thorns dejected,
the season’s clock corrected.
Earth thawed, and ground protested
my husbandry, rejected.
I long for rest in violet hills.
Your blushing bells draw me
to where once we were thriving.
We pine apart, true,
but not to worry!
Love’s in the striving.
There’s my measure.
Our lucid beacon breaks,
but hope’s dying breaths are not yet spent.
While autumn embers sound their rage,
and poplars croak and sway at loss of light,
I make my ascent
up the mountain face,
steeped in the stubborn thick
of sweet decay.
Nature’s happy fall
will not deter me –
not this day.
Time’s stolid relics stand,
tried and found truer than I,
despite the lonely sough.
Tomorrow, the trees will stand again.
Will I?
Today must be enough.
As stripped limbs
vie and claw, a drowsy whisper
volleys the mount’s parapet.
Winter’s silent temptress
thins the air, and I listen,
“turn back… sleep… forget.”
Should I accept my love-lost fate?
Retreat from my most honest endeavor?
No, not ever.
One last breath!
One last breath to this good fight!
My wick is short but burns bright
enough to reach the top.
And below, where two aspiring rivers meet,
she remains, and I
will not stop.
If ever she blooms, I cannot say.
Snow’s downy drift conceals the start.
But I will await, amidst the fray,
the Eternal Ruler of my heart.
