Rhapsody

LOVERS, are you faring forth?
Will you seek the icy north?
Are you steering by the sun?
Where you journey there is none
But a frozen viking’s targe
Resting idly on the marge.

Lovers, do you make your way
To a land of larger day?
Do you track the homing flight
Of the birds that seek the light?
They will lead you to your death
In the desert’s scorching breath.

North or east or south or west,
Lovers, you will lose your quest,
For the prize of your demand
Yields not to the hunter’s hand;
He who searches love or truth
Leaves them hid behind his youth.

poem by Arthur Maquarie
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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