Waiting for spring,
Anticipation, hope, and sun,
Waiting for the birds to sing,
It wouldn’t be too long,
January at the end of numbers,
At four times seven to be exact,
Only three more days it slumbers,
February, then, on stage will act,
And soon, then after, numbers odd,
Cherry blossoms, peach, and apple,
Violets break through the sod,
Such beauties then the earth will dapple,
And I, yes, freshly baked in pink,
In this cradle I was born,
From breasts of beauty I did drink,
There in my youth did I sojourn,
Soon then, be it May and June,
Sweet the fruit the nectar ripe,
Of cherry lips and peaches moon,
See eyes of love in magic light,
The vineyards steep,
I walked the stony path,
To valleys lush and deep,
In wells of secrets took a bath,
Siegfried’s fountain stilled my thirst,
The woods of Odin spilled forth,
Much of song and myth it birthed,
Of magic gods its source,
Where Merovingian’s birthed their clan,
And Charlemagne rode steed to fest,
Ancient lords did battles plan,
Tempt history in mettles nest,
Dark, and still, upon the mountains hill,
Broods in awe of times gone by,
Eerie shadows ghosts will spill,
From castle towers pointing high,
Still the Horst, with Buck, and boar,
Shy of archers aim,
Where royal falcons once did soar,
To armoured hands laid claim,
Never will I true forget,
This place the Gods have wrought,
Where once there stood my crib and bed,
Angels there from heaven brought,
Do I, once more, with crocked staff,
Wander paths that formed my life,
Might once more as child will laugh,
Forget not happiness, but strife,
Breathe I once more, inhale it deep,
Memories old, my soul designed,
Where love and angels would me keep
Still sorrows, that of heart and mind,
There, upon this treasured ground,
The muses reign with lyre song,
I hear it well, I hear the sound,
It calls me back where I belong,
There, where poets muse the dawn,
And children sing the songs of old,
Will there I rest, when soon I’m gone,
Be born again of January’s cold©26/12/2010
Share
Print
Save
Follow
Regis
It calls me back where I belong
A marvelous memoir, my friend.
Happy New Year Jasmin,
Christine