Thus peach-bloom falls in showers of snow; while morn pale rises
keen. Her tearful conflict blazed the skies; though forehead stern
but smile serene. “I moan not winter nor its cold; its mutual kiss
wraps earthen mold. Sigh. Love grows by bit and dies by hour; like
a broken bowl which can not hold. Lord, such fools us mortals be!
We’re foolish enough to still be bold.”
Thus sheltering boughs with leaves implore; as though au courant
of her speech. Like drops of morn upon guelder rose; bade love be
privileged to beseech. Until the skies are colored as dove; do mourn
with more melodious art. Fret not thus fervour round languid heart;
cause the world’s been dotish since tales pagan.”
Love’s a whim-inspired fool;
It has no law nor has it rule.
Photo credits: wallpaperscraft.com
For my prompt “Sûrement vous plaisantez – Surely you jest” tomorrow
at 8:00 am EDT.
Posted on poems written on Prompt Nights
and posted for Poems in April @ Real Toads