Sunday, 4 March 2012

Lilies - A Poem


This field of lilies,
As white as winter snow,
Stretches on forever -
A pure, unbroken flow.

Hazily gleaming
Beneath a watchful Moon,
They are like freed spirits
Escaping Nature's womb.

Yet, not these lilies
Have I come here to admire,
But the lady who picks them,
Upon the midnight hour.

From my perch on high,
And clothed by the shadows,
I see her come bounding
Through the haunted meadow.

Raven hair so dark
Against the glowing bloom,
Lips like a scarlet heart,
Skin like a marble tomb.

She sinks to her knees
And gently plucks a flower.
The sweet scent of perfume
Seems to soothe and relax her.

The smile on her face
Outshines any moon or star.
Like a lily, just blossomed -
Dainty, elegant, and fair.

But the Night grows tired,
And the lady must return
To wherever it is she hides
When the great red Sun burns.

But return she will
On the following night,
To pick her chosen lilies,
Thus bringing me secret delight...

© Copyright Cory Eadson, 2012

1 comment:

  1. You should really stop publishing your poems for free on your blog, and start selling them in ebooks! They're DEFINITELY good enough!