The Moon is a Painter
He coveted her portrait.
He toiled as she grew gay.
She loved to see him labor
In that devoted way.
And in the end it pleased her,
But bowed him more with care.
Her rose-smile showed so plainly,
Her soul-smile was not there.
That night he groped without a lamp
To find a cloak, a book,
And on the vexing portrait
By moonrise chanced to look.
The color-scheme was out of key,
The maiden rose-smile faint,
But through the blessed darkness
She gleamed, his friendly saint.
The comrade, white, immortal,
His bride, and more than bride—
The citizen, the sage of mind,
For whom he lived and died.
poem by Vachel Lindsay
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Little White Rose
Little white rose that I loved, I loved,
Roisin ban, Roisin ban!
Fair my bud as the morning's dawn.
I kissed my beautiful flower to bloom,
My heart grew glad for its rich perfume—
Little white rose that I loved!
Little white rose that I loved grew red,
Roisin rua, Roisin rua!
Passionate tears I wept for you.
Love is more sweet than the world's fame—
I dream you back in my heart the same,
Little white rose that I loved!
Little white rose that I loved grew black,
Roisin duv, Roisin duv!
So I knew not the heart of you.
Lost in the world's alluring fire,
I cry in the night for my heart's desire,
Little white rose that I loved!
poem by Dora Sigerson Shorter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Best Smile
It was a portrait
Of six feet height
Full size Lady Grace,
Minus lips on her face.
With all his skill
The artist failed still,
To give her a smile,
Free from any style.
He scanned every mile,
For that unseen smile,
One lovely to admire,
Forever, the world over.
Smiles, smiles every where,
But not a smile there,
New, true and plain,
His lady should own.
His wife smiled.
His girl smiled.
His servant smiled.
His boss smiled.
The milkmaid smiled.
The cartman smiled.
The beggar smiled.
The neighbour smiled.
The dandy smiled.
The waiter smiled.
The grocer smiled.
The councilor smiled.
He saw an ambitious smile,
Not an aesthetic smile,
And a cunning smile,
Not a winning smile.
He saw a dubious smile,
Not a divine smile,
And a greedy smile,
Not a graceful smile.
He saw a mischievous smile,
Not a magnanimous smile,
And a voluptuous smile,
Not a virtuous smile.
Smiles, with strings, he found,
Wherever he went round,
But not the best one,
The Lady Grace won.
The smile, the best,
He found at last,
From his own child,
Rocking in the cradle.
Now the Lady Grace smiled.
Thanks to the child.
The portrait was acclaimed,
The best of its kind.
(Longest word in English is 'Smiles'
Because there is a mile between 'S' and 'S')
poem by Rajaram Ramachandran
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Rose Petals
Rose petals are so soft to touch,
rose petalsfragrance is so divine to smell,
rose petals are like lovely lips which smile,
rose petals are given to lady love,
rose petals are spread on bed of newly bride,
rose petals are life of butterflies,
rose petals are used for beauty baths,
rpse petals are offered on the lotus feet of god,
rose petals are placed on grave of dear ones,
rose petals are offered in river ganga for departed soul,
rose petals are showered on newly weds,
rose petals are decorated on festive days,
roses are given as a promise for everlasting love.
poem by renu Vig sharma sharma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Smile For The Camera
I see you standing out there in the hall
You seem so nervous waiting for his call
I focus on you
I reach for the lens
The shutter snaps again
(smile)
Smile for the camera
You know
(smile)
The camera never ever lies
Ive been watching you with
Eager hungry eyes
For sometime
(smile)
I hold my lens in the middle of the night
Visions of you dancing in the strobe light
Up on my wall is a picture or two
Of someone who looks like you
(smile)
Smile for the camera
You know
(smile)
The camera is my wide lens
(smile)
You know the camera is my private eye
I got color transparencies
I got black and white
(smile)
Smile for the camera
You know that
(smile)
Cameras never ever lies
(smile)
Ive been watching you with telephoto eyes
For some time
(smile)
Smile for me
(come on)
Smile for me
(come on)
Smile for me
(come on)
Smile for me
(come on)
Smile for me
(come on)
Smile for me
(come on)
(smile)
Wont you smile for the camera
Wont you smile for the
Click, click, click
(smile)
Smile for the camera
(smile)
Smile for the camera
(smile)
Smile for the camera
(smile)
Smile for the camera
(smile)
Smile for the camera
(smile)
You know
(smile)
The camera is my private eye
(smile)
Ive got color transparencies
(smile)
Ive got black and white
(smile)
Smile for the camera
You know that
(smile)
Cameras never ever lies
(smile)
Ive been watching you with telephoto eyes
(smile)
Smile for the camera
You know that
(smile)
Camera is my private eye
(smile)
Ive been watching you
With eager hungry eyes for some time
song performed by by Rick Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A friendly smile
A friendly smile
Just your friendly smile
When I think of, it makes
Me smile and afloat on the Nile
Absent, no matter long it takes
Your smile stands vividly still
In my memory and can it fill
Offered, your friendly smile
Is lovely for a being my kind
To love you I made up my mind
With your friendly smile
None of smiles can your place
Take and shrink back my pace
Joseph de la Sulh
poem by Joseph De La Sulh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Even When I'm Sad
Even when I'm sad,
I smile.
My two front teeth are more
shall we say developed
than my others,
but i don't mind too much.
My smile is unique, and defined,
I shouldn't mind.
Right now I do,
because even when I'm sad,
I smile.
When I'm mad,
I smile.
My personality is so flawed
I can only be enraged until
sarcasm comes in spite of
how bad the situation may be.
It's not the worst thing about me.
But right now it is,
it's too deceiving to smile
when I'm mad.
When I'm bored,
I smile.
Maybe it's because
I like to be alone sometimes,
to enjoy the presence of oneself,
I like to think alone,
and my own thoughts make me laugh,
But isn't it silly to smile
when I'm doing nothing?
When I'm on the stupid pot,
I smile.
Why, why, why?
If someone slapped me,
would I smile?
If someone left me to the vulchures,
would I smile?
If my best friend died,
would I smile?
If I ran over a dog,
would I smile?
I wish I had control over my own face's muscles.
Because even when I smile, I'm still sad.
poem by Jolenish Fiber
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Painting From Memory
what could be more noble
than a son to paint a canvas
a portrait painted with years
of love heartfelt appreciation
a portrait of a beloved mother
lines of deep love appreciation
beauty bestowed upon mother
her face eternally young loving
you were extremely blessed
to have the love and discipline
of a wonderful caring mother
a mother among all mothers
radiant smile smiling as you smile
holding comforting ever loving
good fortune is having such a mother
a great blessing wonderful wise
a love like this is comfort blessing
during all the lived days of our life
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lady Rose
LadyRrose
You have a beautiful smile
And I feel that you should smile more often
Lady Rose
You smell just like a rose
Lady Rose
You are very friendly
poem by Aldo Kraas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Smile Always!
Smile man, smile! Always smile!
Smile all life and smile in style;
Smiling makes one worriless;
And makes you happy and less tense.
Let your smile be spontaneous;
Smiling keeps body relaxed,
And makes your mind fit and composed;
Smile man, smile! Smile always!
Smile from dawn to until dusk;
That’s one way to beat life’s stress;
Smile to all who come across;
Smile man, smile! Smile always!
Smile and get forever praise;
It will help you pass your days;
You will never feel malaise;
Smile man, smile! Smile always!
Four muscles help you to smile;
Sixty-four help you to frown;
Smile man smile! Smile all days!
Smile man, smile! Smile always!
(5-9-2000)
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Garden Wedding
Bees were working the lavender
as a seagull flew in blue sky
red rose's perfume did wendan
the air scented breeze wafted by
Young couples prim in their proper
the elders stood off to the side
Photographer posed as poser
the beauty in beholders eye
Bees were working the lavender
as a seagull sang in new sky
the bride shoes rose color purpleness
her groom stumping rose white, near nye
Bees kept working the lavender
A seagull flew swiftly far sky
yellow rose dress bride surrendered
To her white knight with kiss, near fly
The House Of Dust: Part 03: 02: The Screen Maiden
You read—what is it, then that you are reading?
What music moves so silently in your mind?
Your bright hand turns the page.
I watch you from my window, unsuspected:
You move in an alien land, a silent age . . .
. . . The poet—what was his name—? Tokkei—Tokkei—
The poet walked alone in a cold late rain,
And thought his grief was like the crying of sea-birds;
For his lover was dead, he never would love again.
Rain in the dreams of the mind—rain forever—
Rain in the sky of the heart—rain in the willows—
But then he saw this face, this face like flame,
This quiet lady, this portrait by Hiroshigi;
And took it home with him; and with it came
What unexpected changes, subtle as weather!
The dark room, cold as rain,
Grew faintly fragrant, stirred with a stir of April,
Warmed its corners with light again,
And smoke of incense whirled about this portrait,
And the quiet lady there,
So young, so quietly smiling, with calm hands,
Seemed ready to loose her hair,
And smile, and lean from the picture, or say one word,
The word already clear,
Which seemed to rise like light between her eyelids . .
He held his breath to hear,
And smiled for shame, and drank a cup of wine,
And held a candle, and searched her face
Through all the little shadows, to see what secret
Might give so warm a grace . . .
Was it the quiet mouth, restrained a little?
The eyes, half-turned aside?
The jade ring on her wrist, still almost swinging? . . .
The secret was denied,
He chose his favorite pen and drew these verses,
And slept; and as he slept
A dream came into his heart, his lover entered,
And chided him, and wept.
And in the morning, waking, he remembered,
And thought the dream was strange.
Why did his darkened lover rise from the garden?
He turned, and felt a change,
As if a someone hidden smiled and watched him . . .
Yet there was only sunlight there.
Until he saw those young eyes, quietly smiling,
And held his breath to stare,
And could have sworn her cheek had turned—a little . . .
Had slightly turned away . . .
Sunlight dozed on the floor . . . He sat and wondered,
Nor left his room that day.
And that day, and for many days thereafter,
He sat alone, and thought
No lady had ever lived so beautiful
As Hiroshigi wrought . . .
Or if she lived, no matter in what country,
By what far river or hill or lonely sea,
He would look in every face until he found her . . .
There was no other as fair as she.
And before her quiet face he burned soft incense,
And brought her every day
Boughs of the peach, or almond, or snow-white cherry,
And somehow, she seemed to say,
That silent lady, young, and quietly smiling,
That she was happy there;
And sometimes, seeing this, he started to tremble,
And desired to touch her hair,
To lay his palm along her hand, touch faintly
With delicate finger-tips
The ghostly smile that seemed to hover and vanish
Upon her lips . . .
Until he knew he loved this quiet lady;
And night by night a dread
Leered at his dreams, for he knew that Hiroshigi
Was many centuries dead,—
And the lady, too, was dead, and all who knew her . .
Dead, and long turned to dust . . .
The thin moon waxed and waned, and left him paler,
The peach leaves flew in a gust,
And he would surely have died; but there one day
A wise man, white with age,
Stared at the portrait, and said, 'This Hiroshigi
Knew more than archimage,—
Cunningly drew the body, and called the spirit,
Till partly it entered there . . .
Sometimes, at death, it entered the portrait wholly . .
Do all I say with care,
And she you love may come to you when you call her . . . '
So then this ghost, Tokkei,
Ran in the sun, bought wine of a hundred merchants,
And alone at the end of day
Entered the darkening room, and faced the portrait,
And saw the quiet eyes
Gleaming and young in the dusk, and held the wine-cup,
And knelt, and did not rise,
And said, aloud, 'Lo-san, will you drink this wine?'
Said it three times aloud.
And at the third the faint blue smoke of incense
Rose to the walls in a cloud,
And the lips moved faintly, and the eyes, and the calm hands stirred;
And suddenly, with a sigh,
The quiet lady came slowly down from the portrait,
And stood, while worlds went by,
And lifted her young white hands and took the wine cup;
And the poet trembled, and said,
'Lo-san, will you stay forever?'—'Yes, I will stay.'—
'But what when I am dead?'
'When you are dead your spirit will find my spirit,
And then we shall die no more.'
Music came down upon them, and spring returning,
They remembered worlds before,
And years went over the earth, and over the sea,
And lovers were born and spoke and died,
But forever in sunlight went these two immortal,
Tokkei and the quiet bride . . .
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Margaret's Bridal Eve
I
The old grey mother she thrummed on her knee:
There is a rose that's ready;
And which of the handsome young men shall it be?
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.
My daughter, come hither, come hither to me:
There is a rose that's ready;
Come, point me your finger on him that you see:
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.
O mother, my mother, it never can be:
There is a rose that's ready;
For I shall bring shame on the man marries me:
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.
Now let your tongue be deep as the sea:
There is a rose that's ready;
And the man'll jump for you, right briskly will he:
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.
Tall Margaret wept bitterly:
There is a rose that's ready;
And as her parent bade did she:
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.
O the handsome young man dropped down on his knee:
There is a rose that's ready;
Pale Margaret gave him her hand, woe's me!
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.
II
O mother, my mother, this thing I must say:
There is a rose in the garden;
Ere he lies on the breast where that other lay:
And the bird sings over the roses.
Now, folly, my daughter, for men are men:
There is a rose in the garden;
You marry them blindfold, I tell you again:
And the bird sings over the roses.
O mother, but when he kisses me!
There is a rose in the garden;
My child, 'tis which shall sweetest be!
And the bird sings over the roses.
O mother, but when I awake in the morn!
There is a rose in the garden;
My child, you are his, and the ring is worn:
And the bird sings over the roses.
Tall Margaret sighed and loosened a tress:
There is a rose in the garden;
Poor comfort she had of her comeliness
And the bird sings over the roses.
My mother will sink if this thing be said:
There is a rose in the garden;
That my first betrothed came thrice to my bed;
And the bird sings over the roses.
He died on my shoulder the third cold night:
There is a rose in the garden;
I dragged his body all through the moonlight:
And the bird sings over the roses.
But when I came by my father's door:
There is a rose in the garden;
I fell in a lump on the stiff dead floor:
And the bird sings over the roses.
O neither to heaven, nor yet to hell:
There is a rose in the garden;
Could I follow the lover I loved so well!
And the bird sings over the roses.
III
The bridesmaids slept in their chambers apart:
There is a rose that's ready;
Tall Margaret walked with her thumping heart:
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.
The frill of her nightgown below the left breast:
There is a rose that's ready;
Had fall'n like a cloud of the moonlighted West:
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.
But where the West-cloud breaks to a star:
There is a rose that's ready;
Pale Margaret's breast showed a winding scar:
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.
O few are the brides with such a sign!
There is a rose that's ready;
Though I went mad the fault was mine:
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.
I must speak to him under this roof to-night:
There is a rose that's ready;
I shall burn to death if I speak in the light:
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.
O my breast! I must strike you a bloodier wound:
There is a rose that's ready;
Than when I scored you red and swooned:
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.
I will stab my honour under his eye:
There is a rose that's ready;
Though I bleed to the death, I shall let out the lie:
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.
O happy my bridesmaids! white sleep is with you!
There is a rose that's ready;
Had he chosen among you he might sleep too!
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.
O happy my bridesmaids! your breasts are clean:
There is a rose that's ready;
You carry no mark of what has been!
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.
IV
An hour before the chilly beam:
Red rose and white in the garden;
The bridegroom started out of a dream:
And the bird sings over the roses.
He went to the door, and there espied:
Red rose and white in the garden;
The figure of his silent bride:
And the bird sings over the roses.
He went to the door, and let her in:
Red rose and white in the garden;
Whiter looked she than a child of sin:
And the bird sings over the roses.
She looked so white, she looked so sweet:
Red rose and white in the garden;
She looked so pure he fell at her feet:
And the bird sings over the roses.
He fell at her feet with love and awe:
Red rose and white in the garden;
A stainless body of light he saw:
And the bird sings over the roses.
O Margaret, say you are not of the dead!
Red rose and white in the garden;
My bride! by the angels at night are you led?
And the bird sings over the roses.
I am not led by the angels about:
Red rose and white in the garden;
But I have a devil within to let out:
And the bird sings over the roses.
O Margaret! my bride and saint!
Red rose and white in the garden;
There is on you no earthly taint:
And the bird sings over the roses.
I am no saint, and no bride can I be:
Red rose and while in the garden;
Until I have opened my bosom to thee:
And the bird sings over the roses.
To catch at her heart she laid one hand:
Red rose and white in the garden;
She told the tale where she did stand:
And the bird sings over the roses.
She stood before him pale and tall:
Red rose and white in the garden;
Her eyes between his, she told him all:
And the bird sings over the roses.
She saw how her body grow freckled and foul:
Red rose and white in the garden;
She heard from the woods the hooting owl:
And the bird sings over the roses.
With never a quiver her mouth did speak:
Red rose and white in the garden;
O when she had done she stood so meek!
And the bird sings over the roses.
The bridegroom stamped and called her vile:
Red rose and white in the garden;
He did but waken a little smile:
And the bird sings over the roses.
The bridegroom raged and called her foul:
Red rose and white in the garden;
She heard from the woods the hooting owl:
And the bird sings over the roses.
He muttered a name full bitter and sore:
Red rose and white in the garden;
She fell in a lump on the still dead floor:
And the bird sings over the roses.
O great was the wonder, and loud the wail:
Red rose and white in the garden;
When through the household flew the tale:
And the bird sings over the roses.
The old grey mother she dressed the bier:
Red rose and white in the garden;
With a shivering chin and never a tear:
And the bird sings over the roses.
O had you but done as I bade you, my child!
Red rose and white in the garden;
You would not have died and been reviled:
And the bird sings over the roses.
The bridegroom he hung at midnight by the bier:
Red rose and white in the garden;
He eyed the white girl thro' a dazzling tear:
And the bird sings over the roses.
O had you been false as the women who stray:
Red rose and white in the garden;
You would not be now with the Angels of Day!
And the bird sings over the roses.
poem by George Meredith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Pass a smile
I smile when I am shy
I smile when I want to cry
I smile when I am sad
I smile, when I just go mad
I smile when I am envious
I smile when I am very jealous
I smile when I am happy
I smile when I feel shaky
I smile when I am emotional
I also smile when I act abnormal
I smile when I am overloaded
I smile when I miss my beloved
I smile when I think something
I smile when I think just nothing
Do you know why I am smiling? When I smile at you?
Dear friend, I think it’s a very tough question I asked you! !
Never mind whatever be the reason behind my smile,
Dear, just pass me a smile, at least I feel good for a while
poem by Sumita Datta
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In the spirit of Rumi - 51: Beyond Artifice
Because I am a poet
and you are a poet
I would like to talk to you today
of how when My Beloved
smiles at me with that open smile
that asks nothing but the freedom
to express itself
then I can only think of
that white rose which this morning
took my breath away with its
innocent whiteness, its pure whiteness
with just a hint of a blush as if
it astonishes even itself
or I could speak of the white rose
which reminds me of
the smile of My Beloved
but in truth, the likeness
of these two becomes one
not in my poem but
in myself as I gaze with wonder
at white rose; receive
the smile of My Beloved which asks nothing;
and God, looking at me looking,
God who is all three of us
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I am a rose
What color am I? Am I red, pink, white, oh wait I am black...
Black is the color of many dark secret places and or ideas, which we may never want to enter...
So why do I feel like I am a black rose? Do I have secrets hidden so deep that no one can even sense them?
I wish I were a red and or a white rose. Those two colors can mean many of things but what you find the most is that of marriage...
Red is the color of love and white is the color in which we use mostly for a wedding. I want my darkness to turn to light. With my color of a rose may the light bring out a marriage...
I am a rose of many colors which one are you? ? ?
poem by Kristen Palmitier
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Bridegroom
Pity, O Bridegroom,
The perilous joy of the bride!
In the searching lights of her eyes,
In the fugitive flush of her cheeks,
In the fainting pink of her palm,
In the speed-mad pulse of her wrist,
In the throb and flight of her heart,
In the lifting foam of her breasts,
In her pale, excited smile,--
A dim flame, blown in a wind,--
See the perilous happiness,
Hid in the blood of your bride.
Eve alone
Of the generations of women,
Lacked the perilous joy of the bride.
Fully innocent, fully ignorant,
Gurgled her sweet child-laughter.
But to her daughters,
Down to the wayward moderns,
Whispers and echoes what she learned
From giving her secret self,
From giving her red rose heart,
From giving her cream rose breast,
From giving her crystal dreams,--
Dividing her trinity,
Her soul and her flesh and her mind,
With Adam.
So began, O Bridegroom,
The perilous happiness,
A bubble, ready to break,
A sphere made of colors alone,
Your bride with her searching eyes
Holds out to your snatching hands.
poem by Katherine W. McCluskey
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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My Rose...
gift you a rose, ,
gift you my rose....
but my rose to you, is not like any rose in this world...
a rose drunk from my tears...
a rose that i take care about it by my soul...
a rose gave it a water by my blood...
and perfumed it by my love....
my rose to you, is not like an roses...
its color not like any colors...
its not a red...
and its not a white...
even not a yellow...
its color pick up from the suns` yellow color..
and mix from the seas` blue color...
and from my bloods` drops..
and from my tears...
so.. its color was mixed with my sadness and my love...
my rose to you, is not like any roses...
its perfume is not like any perfume..
its a mix between a loves` nectar...
and many of kindness, and honesty love...
my rose to you, is not like any roses...
raised inside my heart...
and takes a warm light, from my eyes` light...
and its food, from the hope, that we always wish...
and from our future, which will gather us to each others one day...
so please accept and take my rose...
poem by Hazem Al Jaber
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Success of Smile
Smile is not
Love...
Smile is not
Money...
Smile is not
Tea...
Smile is not
Treatrment...
Smile is not
Medicine...
Smile is not
Television...
Smile is not
Hellooo...
Smile is not
Friend...
Smile is not
Rich...
Smile is not
Any thing above all...
But...
All above come with
Your's smile's quickly...
For you...! ! ! ! !
So for...? ? ? ?
Smile making for
Success man...
For live life...
Smile...smile... smile...
Every time...
Everything...
Your life run eazy...
Try...try... do smile...
My smile also for you...((((((((!))))))))
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Smile
A smile brightens a darkened room.
A smile converts an air of gloom.
A smile is the gate to a happy mind.
A smile is a treasure all must find.
A smile is so needed at this time of strife.
A smile means we’re in charge of life.
A smile lost is an opportunity missed.
A smile is an opportunity to never resist.
A smile spreads its rays like sun above.
A smile sends joy and engenders love.
A smile costs nothing but has limitless worth.
A smile is as valuable as anything on earth.
poem by Gregory Huyette
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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O, How I Smile!
O, how I smile!
I smile at the morning sun,
I smile when the day is done;
I smile at a cup of tea,
I smile at the old oak tree;
I smile at the summer flower,
I smile at each sudden shower;
I smile at the horned moon,
I smile for poor Lorna Doone;
I smile on early Monday mornings,
I even smile when I'm yawning!
I smile in slow traffic jams,
I smile when I'm eating spam;
I smile when I miss my date,
I smile when the weekend's late;
I smile at the minimum wage,
I smile at the blank white page.
I smile when my hawks aren't fed,
I smile in my empty bed;
I smile at all my enemies,
(Which makes them rather ill at ease) !
I smile at horrid screaming babies,
I'll smile if my dogs get rabies;
I smile if the nights get cold,
I'll smile if I get too old;
I smile if I'm feeling vague,
I'll smile with bubonic plague;
(When I think of someone dear,
I'll smile with a little tear) .
I'll smile when the Furies call,
I'll smile when the cities fall;
I'll smile when all the cards are dealt,
I'll smile when the ice-caps melt;
I'll smile when all the bees have died,
I'll smile when the Earth has fried;
I'll still be smiling, there's no doubt,
Even when the Sun goes out.
But as I smile I'd like to say,
I smile out to sea each day,
Where once the summer wind had ranged,
And then so very quickly changed,
To leave me stranded in this place,
While fixing fast my smiling face.
(CBB Aug 2011)
poem by Colin Breck Boardman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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