A year has passed since he was last
beneath her Roman garden borne:
twelve moons in shadow have been cast
and gently, stirred leaves on the lawn.
*
Reborn, he found myself no more
alone among the crowd, but perched
at the toes of her piano:
the prelude to their coupled verse.
*
In Edinburgh – her name revealed –
Rolled the stone, strolled royal miles.
Then, still, before Ross fountain, spilled
words and wishes; kisses; smiles.
*
Durham – sweet Durham’s river clear –
where dreams are dreamt and soaps gifted,
carillon bells peal out the year,
and the lovers’ hearts are lifted.
*
The morning sun on York Minster,
is risen; I grind; robust; sanguine.
I turn and bite my thumb at Caesar.
“Your voice falls hollow to my Queen.”
*
*
[a nod toward the bard is made: R&J; A1 S1]
Enchant-ing x
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Many wondrous subtleties in this stack of verse. Well done!
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Thanks for taking the time & effort!
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