Upon A Prince Who Is Set To Be A King.

Flaming cornet of the orange bloom,
Come my prince…have you come soon?
The winds are yet to leave May’s bosom
And the cackle of the infant blossom.
So stretch and stretch your majestic hand,
To hold the flames of the withering noon
And the times of the gray sands,
As they cover your gentlest passions,
So be not timid; be all you can stand
And you shall have your kingly lands.

Upon One Rainy Evening

The rain-she rebels again and again
Against the window glass though,
The gallantry falls all not in vain,
As a few trickle down my brow.
Careless she is; once carefree she was-
Last spring; come mid August
She claims the rattling leaves, alas!

The myriad streams carve their trails,
On the glass and off on the lea.
Not from the clouds do all they hail,
Hark! I grow too blind to see.
So I wonder ‘bout that graying stone,
Standing against the crossing brook,
To drown without a sigh or a moan.

Dear twilight of a misty shade,
Falls clamorously yet steady, so
All that stays from all that fades-
Whispers of the bent trees’ woes.
Their pride, now, wears not the grace,
Of the days of their purple bloom,
They be no greater than the thunder’s mace.

The night’s colour remains unbothered,
Unlike the changing moods of the day.
Upon the glass my imprints are cottered
To the trails slowly waning away.
Though, by the wee hours I forget my rue.
And know the night as it is-
The night is true…the night is true.

Upon The Past Winter

The day is gracious, warm and soft,
A tender breeze that greets the morn
Ah! Last of the leaves wearing frost
Rattle, O! why shall they mourn?
Amid the memories are they lost?
Waiting yet…Waiting to be reborn.

For the winter’s left its frozen trails
Delicate, delicate, delicate…so
Collapses below the leave’s mail.
With every passing they shall know,
The imprints of the hands must fail.
Deep is the impression of spring, lo!

Fall Of An October Leaf

The sward swells where it lacks the green
Bears the dew where it does not, so-
An impression where a magpie had been,
And a squirrel’s trail’s left briskly low.
An October leaf falls in between,
Which way to go? Which way to go?

Her touch is gentle, soft yet weak.
The ground may not yield her call.
So to the blades of grass, it meets
Alas! They shall not let her move at all.
The winds must carry her to their beat.
And so an October leaf must fall.

So an October leaf must fall.

Upon Silence

Imitate the silence within me.
Be it the falling of autumn leaves.
The impressions on the snow I see
Or dreams that saints may weave.
Be the fragrance of the velvet mirth.
Be a stolen stone from the earth.
A shade of darkness and so it be
The silence that is left in me.

Tread On My Soul

Tread on my soul, shall I fall?
Like those who have fallen before,
Or like those who shall fall again.
Be not but soft and tender and light,
for that is not the way of pain
I shall be wronged and not be right,
Though I will grow right ever more
More than any soul that falls.

Brave Men

The fragile words float astray.
Men’s weak hearts and so are they,
To dwindle like the grass in a storm.
The worlds they know or are yet to be known?

The brittle acts float astray.
Men’s weak hands and so are they,
A lance that cannot be held up high
A fallen man bears a fallen sigh!

The pathetic lives float astray.
Men’s weak hopes and so are they,
Why shall only a few be brave?
When all are set to taste the grave.